


Viscaria

by rainier_day



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fey and Fey Hunters, Gen, Language of Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-09-07 11:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20309041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainier_day/pseuds/rainier_day
Summary: There’s a shift in the shadows so subtle that only those mindful of it would notice.Henotices.





	1. Sweet Peas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love when these AUs get so specific the tags are like that's not at thing what even are you trying to do my dude?

There’s a shift in the shadows so subtle that only those mindful of it would notice. 

_He_ notices.

Amidst the dancing and the drinking, he hones in on a beautifully dressed gentleman watching the festivities by the far wall in a dimmer part of the room. There’s an untouched drink in his hand and a pleased smile on his lips and he looks like any other human there.

Only, he wasn’t there a mere moment ago.

Caleb’s mind reconfirms this.

Taking a drink from a passing servant, he pushes past the crowds of handsomely dressed men and elaborately costumed women and walks up to this new guest. Raising his glass in greeting, he says conversationally, “Good evening. Enjoying the gala?”

The man turns to him, his hair locks of dark wavy brown and eyes of rich chestnut. Adorned in soft silks that barely hide his golden brown skin, his outfit leaves less to the imagination than the usual party guest. Despite catching Caleb’s gaze, he smiles, beautiful and unassuming. “Yes, this is delightful. I love parties.”

A servant passes by just then with a lantern in their hand, no doubt to escort a guest retiring for the night to their carriage waiting outside. In the brief flicker of light, the man’s silhouette looms above the both of them, revealing curled horns with dangling ornaments, a swaying tail, and intricate translucent wings.

Caleb takes a sip of his wine and pretends not to notice.

The cold iron spike is sitting heavy in a pocket lined with lead to avoid detection. It’s screaming to be used but he ignores it. He’ll have to find a better place for this. Fewer people. More space to attack and defend. 

Setting the glass down, he offers a hand and asks, “I don’t suppose I could have the honour of dancing with you, Mister…?”

The man takes his hand and nods. “Mollymauk. Mollymauk Tealeaf. Molly to my friends.”

“Mister Mollymauk then,” he says, filing the alias away. “My name is Caleb Widogast.”

“Mister Caleb Widogast,” Molly repeats slowly as though measuring each syllable with care. “A nice long dance would be lovely.”

“Not here,” he says quietly, making a show of glancing around the room at the other guests. “Perhaps somewhere more private?”

Something akin to interest and realization flashes in Molly’s eyes then, but he smiles. Downing his wine in a single gulp, he sets it down in the same movement and says, “Of course. Lead the way.”

Steadying his nerves, Caleb wraps his hand around those long, graceful fingers and leads Mollymauk towards the stairs and up to the rooftop balcony. 

Stepping outside into the cold autumn night, there are grey clouds smothering the entirety of the sky above and relentless winds blowing every which way. None of the other guests have dared to brave the cold, leaving the rooftop empty save for the two of them.

Despite the howling winds, the music from below is still faintly audible and Caleb turns and wraps an arm around Mollymauk’s waist and steps in close. As if mimicking his movement, Molly takes a step in and wraps his arms around Caleb’s neck. He inhales sharply at the gesture and the smell of sweet springtime flowers and incense immediately teases his nose. It’s an alluring smell that seems to warm him even against the autumn wind. Regaining his bearings, Caleb nods. “Shall we?”

“Please.”

The dance is a slow ballad, the tinny sound of music filtering through multiple layers of glass and wood. The two of them sway to the rhythm and circle each other, deceptively intimate in their closeness even as they keep their eyes on one another like predators sizing their prey up.

And as they dance, Mollymauk leans in and whispers in his ear, his voice soft and hypnotic, “So tell me, ‘Caleb Widogast’. Now that you finally have me alone, what will you do next?”

“I have a few ideas, but I suppose that would depend on what you are in the mood for, Mister Mollymauk,” he replies lightly, keeping his eyes trained on the man. 

There’s a quiet laugh. “Is that so? And what if I say I’m in the mood for a bit of fun?”

Caleb arches a brow. “Fun?”

Below, the song winds down to an end followed by a smattering of applause as the band stops to take a quick refreshment break.

“Yes, fun.” Unwrapping his arms from Caleb’s neck, Molly reaches down into his coat pocket and pulls out the chain attached to the adder stone. Caleb tenses as the man inspects it with some amusement. “Such interesting trinkets you have on you. This won’t ward you from evil magics, but I suppose you have other charms for that, don’t you?” 

“Perhaps,” Caleb admits warily, straightening his suit jacket. “You have no interest in going through the rest of my pockets?”

Molly laughs at his meagre challenge, stepping down from it with grace. “Oh, plenty of interest, but I fear my fingers will get burnt.” Handing the adder stone back, Molly backs up until he’s standing on the ledge of the rooftop with his arms spread. “Go on then, have a look if you so please. I’ll give this one to you for free since you so kindly shared a dance with me.”

Caleb frowns at the offer, his instincts telling him to finish the job and be done with it. This is a dangerous game he’s playing and nothing good will come from indulging this creature’s whims. But the bodies of fey disappear as soon as they’re killed, and looking at this beautiful man before him, he can scarcely imagine what kind of sight will greet him beyond the veil of that magical glamour.

Just one look, he promises himself. Just one look to sate his curiosity.

So with one hand, he reaches into his pocket to grasp the cold iron spike, and with the other, he raises the stone up to his eye and peers through the hole.

What he sees takes his breath away. 

He’s seen fey before, but never one like this.

Rather than the human he danced with mere minutes ago, through the stone, he sees a fey standing there, elegant and lithe, with scarred lavender skin and sparkling crimson eyes. Still dressed in colourful silks, his clothes seem even more vibrant now despite the overcast skies, taking on impossible ethereal hues, unruffled and untouched by the biting winds. 

Those locks of deep brown turn to dark violet curls that tumble past the fey’s shoulders, tied back loosely with a ribbon of silk. And protruding from his hair are a pair of rams’ horns that curve neatly around his ears, decorated with gold and silver trimmings and charms. The tail he’d seen earlier in Molly’s silhouette sways to and fro now, curious and alert. 

And the wings.

There’s a slight shimmer where the wings should be and he suspects that under the right circumstances, those translucent wings would be every bit as magnificent as the rest of this creature.

“Atemberaubend…” he breathes, taking it all in.

Molly tilts his head curiously, revealing tattoos of peacock feathers that run down the side of his face past the neckline of his kaleidoscopic coat. His charms twinkle under some invisible light and the rings adorning his long elegant fingers seem to sparkle. 

And then he smiles, revealing pointed canines as he does, but that’s hardly enough to break whatever spell he’s cast over Caleb. “I take it you like what you see, Mister Caleb?”

“What did you do to me?” he asks, all too aware of the heat rising to his cheeks and the skip of his heart.

Crimson eyes blink. “To you? Nothing on my part, my dear, but that can be changed easily enough.”

Caleb lowers the stone only to find Molly gone.

Before he can raise the stone back up to his eye, he feels a hand on his, keeping it lowered. The familiar smell of flowers and incense keeps him at bay as he waits, his grip on the spike tightening and his heartbeat racing.

“Be calm, little hunter,” a voice whispers in his ear, haunting and melodic. A cool rush suddenly runs through his veins, causing his shoulders to sag and his mind to still. “There’s something about you..._ah_, I see.” Unseen fingers lightly brush the hair out of his eyes. “Like I said, I’m in the mood to have some fun and you’re an interesting one, aren’t you? I should like to dance with you again, Caleb Widogast. Come find me at the next party—if you can.”

There are lips on his forehead and suddenly, Mollymauk’s presence disappears.

In the wake of the fey’s absence, screams emit below as all the lights in the gala are suddenly blown out followed by the mischievous cackle of some unseen culprit. And Caleb, still stunned and rooted to the spot, looks down only to see a little pale blue flower tucked between his fingers.

\--

It takes him a while to compose himself enough to straighten out his suit and leave the party. The servants are busy relighting all the candles and torches as he weaves between excited guests, all whispering amongst themselves about the strange happenings of this party. Paying them no heed, he exits the mansion and pauses at the front steps to peer into the garden. Instead of the usual ring of mushroom left behind by fey as they cross back over to their own world, he finds a tangle of sweet peas there, bright and colourful even in the dark of night.

Frowning, he walks over and rips them out and tosses the flowers aside.

\--

Returning back to his house, Caleb spares a quick wary glance over his shoulder before stepping inside. Sliding the bolts shut one after the other, he pauses to ensure the line of salt hasn’t been broken by his entrance.

From inside, he hears scampering and calls out, “It’s only me. I am back so you can come out now, Nott.”

The first thing he sees is light as all the candles and lanterns in the house light up. Then he hears a meow as a little tabby cat runs down the stairs to greet him. Picking him up, he smiles. “Hallo Frumpkin, where is Nott the Brave?”

“Frumpkin! Is it really him?” he hears from upstairs.

The cat meows and sniffs him carefully before eyeing him with a wary look. “Ja, I know. I will explain myself once Nott joins us.” Then stepping back to get a better look at the second floor railings, he spots a red cap poking out and calls out, “I can see you there, Nott. I am standing right here if you need to check. I also brought you a bottle of...something? Possibly wine but I cannot be sure.”

The red cap disappears and there’s the sound of footsteps running down the stairs and suddenly, there’s something clinging to his leg. He looks down to see green skin and large yellow eyes and jagged fangs poking out of that wide grin. “Caleb, it really is you! You smell like fey...and flowers!”

“Yes, I ran into a powerful one at the party but he got away from me. I am afraid I might have fallen under a charm of some sort,” he admits, handing the flask over to the redcap.

Downing the alcohol with one long swig, Nott wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and gives the empty flask back before beckoning him to get closer. “That’s no good! Come here and let me take a look at you! I won’t let anyone lay their hands on my boy!”

Crouching down obligingly, he lets the redcap scan him over. She digs through his pockets, cursing loudly when she accidentally brushes against the iron spike. He quickly apologizes and puts it away somewhere safe while she continues searching.

“What’s this?” Nott asks, pulling out the little blue flower Mollymauk had slipped in his hand before leaving. She sniffs it and makes a face. “It’s enchanted.”

“Not cursed?” he asks.

Nott sniffs it again. “Not cursed. Enchanted, but I don’t know this magic. It’s fey magic.”

Caleb frowns and takes the flower back. “Should I burn it?”

“No, I don’t think you need to,” she says, plucking it out of his hand. Reaching up, she threads the flower into one of his buttonholes and smiles, all jagged fangs and affection. “This will do.”

He returns the smile. “Danke. Is your cap still good or do we need to soak it?”

At the change of topic, she waves him off and pulls the cap farther down with clear disdain for the thing. “No, it’s only the second day. Tomorrow will be fine.”

“If you are certain then I will not press the issue,” Caleb says quietly, still crouching down. “However, I would hate for you to disappear on me, my friend.”

Nott sighs and nods. “You’re very sweet, Caleb. I promise I’ll let you know when I need to scratch this itch, but not before even an hour then! Now, don’t ask me again or I’ll _kill you_!”

Unfazed by her threat, he says evenly, “Well, I would prefer if you could give me some notice to prepare. I believe we still have some pig’s blood for your cap and chicken out back if you need to scratch that, ah, particular itch.”

“I may need a chicken tomorrow,” Nott admits, her shoulders sagging with despair. “Sometimes I can’t help it. The itch never goes away until I do it and the last thing I want to do is hurt you or Frumpkin, Caleb.”

Frumpkin meows while he musters another smile and pulls her into a loose hug. Unlike Mollymauk, Nott smells of deep cave fungi, dirt, and blood—now with the addition of alcohol—but it’s a familiar scent now, one that’s almost comforting to him. “I know. I know you wouldn’t do that to us.” Then standing up, he makes his way to the back room and says, “If you are sure you are feeling fine still, Nott the Brave, I will leave the matter until tomorrow. Now please excuse me for a minute while I make my report.”

Taking a candle with him, he passes through another line of salt to enter the unlit room at the end of the hallway. There, unfurnished save for a small desk and chair, sits a sending stone. Picking it up, he activates it and waits.

“_Bren_,” comes a deep voice from the other end. “_Report_.”

“Yes, sir,” he automatically replies. “There was a fey. A powerful one.” And beautiful, his mind whispers, bringing forth images of ruby red eyes and horns gilded with gold and silver. “He got away.”

“_He?_”

“It,” Caleb quickly corrects himself, mentally scolding himself for the slip up. “Without any leads I do not know if I will make contact with _it_ again,” he says, all the while confused and panicked at his sudden compulsion to lie.

A brief pause. “_I hope you are not slacking in your duties. Do I need to send reinforcements your way?_”

“Nein. No, sir,” he says, hoping he didn’t come off sounding too desperate. “I worked hard to earn my position here and I will keep it free of fey as I have done so far.”

“_Very well. I expect better results next time_.”

“Yes, sir. You will not be disappointed.” The glow of the sending stone fades and Caleb immediately rests his head against the cool wooden frame of the desk with a sigh. “What am I doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet peas = departure after having a good time


	2. Zephyranthes

“More books?” 

Stepping out of the chilly autumn air and into the warmth of the Cobalt Soul, Caleb nods and arches a brow at the question. “This is a library.”

The shorter woman with a partially shaved head and long brown hair pulled back in a loose bun scowls at him, the belt around her blue robes indicating her position here in the library. “Don’t give me lip, Widogast, or I’ll revoke your access.”

“You say that but you also prefer dealing with me over other visitors, Beauregard,” he points out, unmoved by her threat after so many years of friendship. “Also, this is your _job_.”

Beau narrows her eyes, unable to deny his words. Eventually, she crosses her arms and asks, “What are you looking for this time?”

“The fey and the magic they may possess. More specifically, charms and curses,” Caleb replies, keeping his voice low. 

“Magic? Charms and curses? What, did one cast a spell on you during a hunt?” she teases, elbowing him in the ribs lightly.

He shrugs, thinking back to the dance on the rooftop and glancing through the adder stone and the smiling ethereal beauty on the other side. “Quite possibly.”

“Wait, are you serious?” the monk asks, taking a step back in surprise. After inspecting him for any sign of trickery, she rubs the back of her neck and frowns. “Well, shit. Fine, come on this way. The fey shit is over this way—but you already know that by now.”

“Thank you,” he says politely, following behind. 

Sitting at his usual seat off to the side of the library, Caleb digs through book after book, looking for descriptions of fey that match what he saw in Mollymauk and the potential magic they may hold. Nott had said that the flower Molly left him was enchanted but not cursed, but didn’t mean it wasn’t charmed. Surely the fey had some ulterior motive for leaving it behind. 

By the end of the day, he has a small stack of old, musty books next to him and no new answers to his growing list of questions. 

“You find what you were looking for? Are you cursed?” Beau asks, crossing her arms. Outside, the street lamps are being lit and people are beginning to prepare for sundown.

He shakes his head, closing his last book for the day. “Nein, not cursed from what I can find, but I am not sure exactly what I am just yet.” While what he read was interesting, everything proved unhelpful in identifying Mollymauk and his powers. “Perhaps I will learn more during my next hunt.”

The monk makes a noncommittal noise and begins gathering the books on his desk to return to the shelves. “You’re already planning your next one, huh?”

“I have been tasked with keeping the fey out of this town,” Caleb recites, straightening his own stack of parchment covered in notes and diagrams.

Beau nods, hiding her eye-roll by turning her head away. “Yeah, sure, and we greatly appreciate it. Say, just between you and me though, hypothetically speaking, there’s a chance there are good fey out there, right?”

The answer should be no, according to his training. But then an image of Nott and Frumpkin waiting to greet him at home comes to mind and he finds himself unable to splice it so neatly into black and white. “Hypothetically speaking, perhaps,” he answers carefully.

“Then how do you know you’re hunting the right ones?” she asks, her eyes inquisitive and uncharacteristically grave.

It’s a question he’s asked himself a dozen times before. When the fey attack him and refuse to be reasoned with, the line is easy to draw but when they don’t…he thinks of dancing with Mollymauk and that dimpled grin. “I have to trust in my training,” he replies. It’s an unsatisfactory answer but it’s the only he has to fall back on.

Even in the dimming light, he can see that Beau doesn’t look convinced either. She presses, “What would you do if you came across a—maybe not even a good one, but a neutral fey? ...hypothetically speaking.”

He hesitates and chooses his words carefully. “I would have to see. If the situation ever presents itself, it will be assessed and dealt with accordingly.” A bell rings in the distance and he can’t help but exhale in relief. Tucking his papers into his satchel, he says, “I, ah, should leave you to your work. It is almost closing time. Sorry about the mess.”

Waving him off, she shrugs and picks up half of his books in one go. “Don’t worry about it. We’re both just doing our jobs.” Then she turns and shouts, “Hey, Zeenoth, escort this guy to the door while I clean up here, okay?”

A man looks over from a shelf and visibly stifles a sigh. “Please refrain from yelling in the library, Beauregard.” Walking over, he lights an oil lamp and gestures to Caleb. “Come this way, sir. I hope you found all the information you were looking for.”

“Not quite, but Beauregard was very helpful. I would be lost in these stacks without her,” he replies with a pointed nod to Beau.

Taking his leave, Caleb pretends not to see the dish of milk out on the windowsill.

\--

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Caleb?” Nott asks, standing on a chair and adjusting his tie.

“Nein, I cannot be sure of very much right now but it is worth pursuing,” he replies, leaning down for the redcap. A part of him hopes that Mollymauk was simply bluffing about attending the next party but a bigger part of him is thrumming with excitement because he knows that fey don’t lie.

“If you say so.” Straightening his lapels, Nott reaches up and fixes the little pale blue flower, still magically alive and blooming. “There. Very handsome. You be careful not to get charmed again, okay? You have your iron. You have your wards. Do what you need to do to stay safe!”

Caleb smiles and pats her on the head, causing her to grumble and readjust her cap. “I promise I will. And you and Frumpkin stay safe as well, okay?”

From his bed, Frumpkin watches them and meows in response. Nott nods at the cat and translates, “We promise we will, Caleb.”

“Good. I will see you both later tonight then,” he says, walking over to place a kiss on Frumpkin’s head. Making his way down the stairs with the two following close behind, he opens the door and turns around. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

Stepping over the unbroken line of salt, Caleb makes his way down the stairs and onto the street to hail a carriage.

\--

Ever since the events of the last party, rumours have circulated around the upper echelons of people dabbling in the occult and paranormal. Walking into through the front doors, he finds the place even more done up than the last—whether to upstage the hosts of the previous gala or to invite similar events, he doesn’t know.

Taking an offered glass of wine, Caleb wanders through the throngs of people and finds himself a good vantage point to watch the evening unfold. With all the gaudy outfits and puffed up dresses and even more elaborate accessories, he finds it difficult to discern one person from another. 

The thought unsettles him. But with the way Mollymauk stood out last time even with his disguise, he shouldn’t be too difficult to locate, Caleb reasons with himself. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and leans back against the wall, watching the dance begin all while keeping an eye on the shadows.

An hour goes by when the darkest corners of the room seem to shimmer for a moment. A shiver creeps down his spine and Caleb has to stop himself from standing up at attention. His eyes scan the dance floor for any newcomers and after a few minutes, he thinks he may have simply imagined everything when he spots her.

A beautiful, elegant woman walks by on the edge of the dancefloor, speaking demurely with a smitten young man. 

Her dark brown curls are done up immaculately with ornate pins and jewels and despite the wide flair of her dress, she seems to glide across the floor without so much as a brush against other guests. Most of all, her eyes seem to glow and sparkle whenever she passes by candlelight. It’s just the faintest hint of crimson beneath those thick lashes and if he hadn’t seen the fey through the adder stone previously, he would’ve thought it a trick of the light.

To her side, the young man hangs onto her every word, effectively playing the part of a man head over heels in love. And he could’ve pulled it off if it weren’t for the blankness in his eyes and the way he never quite looked directly at her.

Putting down his half-finished drink and straightening his sleeves, Caleb gives his pockets a pat to ensure his cold iron spike and charm wards are still there. Satisfied, he makes his way over to the pair and clears his throat lightly. Bowing, he says, “Apologies for interrupting. Might I have a moment of your time, madam?”

The woman gives him a puzzled stare and tilts her head a little while the man turns and looks at him, vacant and dumbfounded, his brows furrowing at the interruption. 

Even as Caleb begins to doubt what his eyes saw, his instinct hold fast and resolute. 

After a moment, the woman tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and leans in and whispers something to the man. He blinks a few times and, without another word, docilely wanders off into the crowd. 

When Caleb turns his attention back from the man, there’s a smile on the woman’s painted lips that reveals the same dimples he’s been trying so hard not to think about. “What gave me away?”

Images of the fey’s shifting silhouette come to mind, but what comes out of his mouth instead is “Your smile. Your eyes.”

Eyes widening a fraction, Mollymauk bursts into laughter. Hiding a wide smile behind an ornate fan, a passing lamp reveals a brief glimpse of amused crimson eyes and the silhouette of a tail swaying idly. “That’s very good, Mister Caleb. Very flattering.”

“I speak only the truth…” He gives the fey a questioning nod.

Molly looks at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before making a noise of realization and an offhanded gesture. “Yes, of course. Humans. So limited in your choices. Mister is fine. It hardly makes a difference to me.”

“Mister Mollymauk then,” Caleb says. “I believe I have met your challenge and found you.”

Another smile, coyer this time. “So you have. I believe what follows is a dance. Should we take this to the roof again?”

Caleb shakes his head, offering his arm once more. “Not the roof, no. I do not believe it is open to guests. We would be questioned trying to access it and I would prefer something more discreet. How about the gardens? We may be afforded a little privacy there.”

Curling his gloved arm around Caleb’s, Molly gestures for him to proceed. “By all means, lead on.”

As they walk, he can’t be sure if it’s through the use of magic or not, but the crowd seems to part before them—yet no one so much as glances their way. It must be magic, he eventually decides, discreetly looking over at the fey, who walks with nothing less than utter confidence and elegance. 

“I see you kept my little charm,” Molly says without turning his head. “Yet you destroyed my ring of flowers. I did put some thought into it, you know?”

He blinks and thinks back to the circle of tangled flowers that he’d ripped out at the last party. Startled that Mollymauk had cared enough to take notice, he stammers out an excuse. “I—I apologize, but I could not leave such obvious evidence behind after you created such a scene,” he says, another partial lie.

“If I do it somewhere more subtle, will you still have to destroy it?” the fey asks, a slight frown on his lips as if genuinely concerned.

Caleb considers this for a moment before answering, “Ja, but I will try to move them with more care next time if that would please you.”

At this, Molly looks over, pleasantly surprised. “It would. Please me very much, that is. You’re unexpectedly kind, little hunter.”

“No kinder than anyone else,” he says, unable to keep the bitter honesty out of his voice. “Perhaps less than most, actually.”

The fey studies him thoughtfully before turning back to facing forward. “What an interesting person I’ve stumbled upon.” 

As they reach the gardens, the ground is covered in colourful autumn leaves, still damp from recent showers and pressed into the dirt and grass. Caleb hesitates for a moment before venturing forth after the fey, his shoes slightly sinking into the softened earth. 

Molly doesn’t seem to experience any of these problems. Despite the muddy conditions, his dress and shoes don’t pick up any dirt as he all but glides across the empty gardens.

“That is a pretty handy trick,” Caleb remarks, looking around. “We have privacy here, but dancing may prove a bit difficult given the terrain.” When he receives a bemused glance back, he gestures down to his feet and says, “I am only human, Mollymauk.”

“Well, that won’t do,” Molly says. With the simple wave of a hand, Caleb feels his entire body shift up and suddenly, it’s as though he’s standing on solid ground again. “Better?”

He takes a step to test his balance and nods. “Much better, danke. Shall we?”

Wordlessly, they slide into place with his arm around Molly’s waist and Molly’s arm around the back of his neck. Even though he knows the outfit is nothing more than glamour, his fingers run along the delicate embroidery around the bodice of the dress and every sensation tells him otherwise. The two of them lock eyes for a moment and Caleb looks away, holding his tongue.

Tilting his head to the side, the fey asks, “Is there something you want to ask, Mister Caleb? You have a look on your face.”

Caleb blinks, his eyes wide before quickly schooling his expression into one of blank neutrality. 

“Hmm, that’s no fun.”

“Perhaps not, but I did have a question for you, Mollymauk,” he says, careful to keep his tone even.

“Go on, ask and I may answer,” Molly says, more playfully now.

He takes a moment to gather his courage and his words. “What are your intentions here in our realm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zephyranthes = expectation


	3. Delphinium

“What are your intentions in this realm?”

Clearly taken aback, his question startles a laugh out of the fey. “Intentions? When you ask it like _that_, it sounds like I’m up to some dastardly deed. I can assure you it’s nothing nefarious—not tonight, anyway. My _intention_ here is simply to enjoy myself for the night. Drink a little. Find a dashing hunter and flirt a little. Dance a little if I’m lucky.”

Caleb arches a brow and looks down at his arm, which is still wrapped around the other’s waist, then farther down to the way their feet step in time to some silent rhythm. “I would say you have gotten very lucky so far, Mollymauk.”

“Yes, I’ve checked off just about everything off my list for tonight,” Molly tells him with a pleasant smile that doesn’t match the mischief in his eyes.

“Just about? There is more then?” Caleb asks. He swallows hard and wonders if the fey can feel the way his pulse speeds up at the ideas that run through his head. 

“There may be,” the fey replies with an easy shrug. Then, with a knowing glance, he asks with feigned innocence, “Were there things you wanted done as well, Caleb?”

Suddenly caught between the desire to blurt out the truth and his training telling him to play it safe, he stifles the urge to reach down to grip the charm wards in his pocket. After a moment of indecision, he stammers, “Many things. There are still a great many things I need to accomplish. I, ah, you may have to be more specific.”

Molly chuckles and leans in dangerously close, his voice soft and enticing. “You’ve been dealing with fey for far too long, little hunter. There’s no need to play word games here. You can tell me. I am feeling generous. Is there something specific to me, perhaps?”

Caleb swallows hard and eventually nods. There’s a tight coil of apprehension in his gut, and despite his training and his wards, whatever hold the fey has on him seems to win out. “I would like to see you again.”

Warm brown eyes blink blankly at him and he has to remind himself that this too is nothing more than a magical facade to hide those brilliant ruby reds.

At the silence, sheepishly, he lowers his gaze and clarifies, “Not like that—not _just_ like that. I meant your true form. Without the glamour. I...I would like to see you through the stone again. If I may.”

Studying him quietly, Molly eventually smiles again. “No.”

He looks up, startled by the answer. Emboldened by surprise, he asks, “Even though I met your challenge?”

“Ah, but I lifted you from the mud.”

“And the dance?”

“Didn’t we both enjoy that?”

Caleb shuts his mouth, pressing his lips into a tight line in thought. Even as his mind races to come up with an argument, he knows this is not a battle he will win.

Grin widening, the fey reaches up to cup his face. Loose strands of hair frame Molly’s face, dusted by a faint sheen of glitter that glows iridescent under the pale moonlight. “Not this time, Mister Caleb. Not tonight.”

“Why?” he asks, the word leaving his lips without thought.

Molly laughs and lets go of him, hands moving down to idly adjust his cravat. “To keep you coming back for more, of course. It’s about time I took my leave anyway. Find me again at the next party; I’ll try to make it more of a challenge.” Then, playing with his lapels, he touches the flower petals and adds, “Keep this little charm of mine, my dear. It’s a good look on you.”

There’s a sudden gust of wind that forces him to turn his head, and when Caleb turns back around, Mollymauk is gone. 

Much like the previous event, screams and shrieks come from within the building—only more urgent this time. 

As he walks back towards the party, with each step he takes, his feet gently descend back to the ground until they’re firmly planted on the gravel path leading back to the house. Inside, he finds the attendees scrambling in a panic. “What happened?” he asks a passing servant.

“Oh, it’s terrible, sir! All the wine suddenly disappeared!” the servant tells him, her disbelief slowly draining into dread.

“Ah. A tragedy. Truly,” Caleb says sympathetically. It occurs to him to check his party favour for Nott. Pulling out the flask from his coat pocket, he finds it empty of the wine he’d pilfered earlier. He feels himself stifle an exasperated smile even as he shakes his head. “Oh dear. Nott will not be pleased.”

He stays a little longer to watch the party peter out with the alcohol before excusing himself. Outside, on the front lawn next to the stairs to the entrance, he finds a colourful ring of blue and purple flowers standing up in the grass. 

Remembering his words to Molly, Caleb rubs the back of his neck and walks over and gingerly tries to move one of the plants. As soon as he touches it, the ring of flowers bursts into butterflies that flutter away. The unexpectedness has him jumping back warily. It isn’t until the butterflies begin disappearing into the night that he runs a hand through his hair with a chuckle. “Well, that saves us both a little work, I suppose. Until next time, then, Mister Mollymauk.”

After another quick look around to ensure no other fairy rings are present, he walks out to the streets to hail a carriage.

As he’s driven home, he starts composing his report in his head—a far grimmer task as he recalls the information he gathered and the details of the night. All the while, even as he scripts his debrief, he knows he’s going to lie.

\--

He’s wringing his hands anxiously as he waits for the voice to come through on the sending stone.

“_Bren, report_,” the command eventually comes.

“Yes, sir,” Caleb says. Looking straight ahead, he lets the story he rehearsed earlier spill from his lips. “An uneventful night. Grigs appeared and caused an uproar but they have been dispatched of.”

“_And the fey from before?_”

“No sign of it, sir,” he says, his throat tightening and heartbeat racing at the lie. Reaching up to play with the little flower in his lapel, he adds, “I will continue looking.”

A dismissive noise. “_Very good. That will be all._”

“Yes, sir.” Caleb waits until the stone dims to release his sigh of relief. He sits there for another minute to collect himself before getting up and leaving the room to find Nott and Frumpkin waiting behind the line of salt.

“Are you okay, Caleb?” Nott asks. “He didn’t threaten you or say anything mean, did he? I’ll kill him if he did!”

He smiles at her protectiveness and closes the door behind him. “Nein, nothing beyond the usual, but thank you. Come, I need to take stock of our inventory. I think we are out of supplies and your cap will need to be soaked again soon, won’t it?”

\--

Gathering supplies for Nott used to be more of an ordeal where he used to have to scour the town days in advance for the right people and places to purchase the items from. But having since established rapport with certain shops where he knows for certain that they’ll accept his money without question, he’s been able to go out on the day of with confidence. 

The little bell at the top of the door rings pleasantly as he steps inside. The tall gentleman at the counter turns and smiles at him, his long, vibrant hair combed to one side and partially braided. “Ah, Mister Caleb, welcome back.”

“Guten Morgen, Herr Clay. I hope you are well. I am here to pick up some tea leaves and more chicken?”

The tea maker, Caduceus Clay, nods and takes out a tin and pops off the lid. The fragrant smell of lavender and black tea immediately emits from the tin. “You came at a great time. We actually just finished drying this batch of Casala out. Care for a cup while I go fetch your other items? How many do you need this time?”

Caleb nods and takes a seat on one of the stools by the counter. “That sounds lovely. Just two this time, bitte, and I will take whatever vegetables you have for sale.”

Caduceus brings out a cup and prepares the tea for him before excusing himself and disappearing to the back. While not where he’d traditionally go for livestock, he received a tip from Beauregard a while back about the eclectic tea maker and his expansive garden and the animals he kept. Since his first visit, he hasn’t bothered looking elsewhere for these things. Maybe it’s the shop’s atmosphere or any combination of the man’s discretion and personality, but Caleb finds Caduceus’ presence a comfortable one.

From what little he knows about Caduceus, the tea maker doesn’t partake in meat but merely keeps the livestock around to help with his gardens. The man seems to worship some pagan goddess called the Wildmother, which he openly talks about with that tranquil smile of his. And most importantly, he doesn’t ask prying questions.

Minutes pass and the man returns with a basket of greens and a woven cage with calm clucking coming from inside. Caleb almost feels guilty for taking these animals only to have them scratch Nott’s itch. But he also knows that try as she may, she can only suppress the very nature of her being for so long and it’s far better for her to take her frenzy out on a chicken than a person.

As he sips his tea, he watches Caduceus prepare a warm cup of milk and arches a brow. The tea maker catches his look and smiles. “I’m expecting a customer later. She prefers milk to tea. Isn’t that nice?”

“It isn’t what I would expect from a tea store,” Caleb admits. “But then I am here picking up produce.”

Caduceus nods, serene as ever. “We all find our way here for different purposes. I’m just glad I can be of service. Now, what kind of veggies did you have in mind?”

\--

With the basket and cage hanging off of one arm, Caleb’s making his way back through town when the hair on the back of his neck suddenly prickle. Turning down an alleyway, he sets his items down on top of a stack of empty crates and pulls out the adder stone from his pocket.

Peering through the hole, he catches movement to the side and whirls around to see a quickling watching him. The tiny creature sneers at him and then pauses with a start. Realizing that it’s being watched, the quickling readies its daggers and disappears in a blur.

Caleb frowns and puts away the stone.

He’s dealt with enough of these to know better than to go in for an attack. Reaching into his pocket for his iron spike, Caleb makes a show of glancing back towards his goods and takes a step back.

While he doesn’t see anything, with his wards and tools, he can sense the creature’s presence well enough. Turning on his heel, he makes a run for his things and holds his breath and listens.

A light, high-pitched laugh sounds from behind him.

Then comes the sound of buzzing.

Caleb waits only half a second before turning back around as he pulls out the iron spike and thrusts it towards the creature’s presence. There’s a faint impact and a shriek so shrill it makes him wince.

And then silence.

Although not visible to the naked eye, he can feel the creature’s sticky blood seeping into his clothes and sighs. Peering around once more through the stone to ensure he didn’t miss anything, he makes his way over to his things and gathers them up and continues about his day.

It’s an uncomfortable walk knowing that he’s splattered with blood, but he shrugs off the discomfort and stops by the butcher’s. Stepping inside, he blinks when he sees an unfamiliar figure standing there. “Hi there, what can I do you for today?” the man behind the counter asks. He’s tall and lanky with scars on his upper lip and above his eye and a streak of white through his otherwise black hair, though none of it takes away from his striking good looks.

“Hallo,” Caleb mutters, glancing around. “Is Vandren not in?”

“Oh, no, he threw his back out the other day so I agreed to look after his shop till he’s back on his feet—I owe him at least that much. I’m normally out on the docks,” the man explains.

Caleb nods slowly, taken aback by the similarity in this man’s accent to his usual butcher’s. “I see. I am sorry to hear he is not well.”

“Vandren’s tough. He’ll be back in no time. The name’s Fjord, by the way. I’d shake your hand but,” he raises his bloody hand in demonstration.

He shakes his head. “That is quite alright. My name is Caleb Widogast. Did Vandren set aside an order for me?”

Fjord puts the cleaver down and wipes his hands clean on a nearby rag and nods. “Caleb Widogast…right, you’re the one who needs raw pig’s blood. I’ve got some set aside. Making your own black pudding for whatever feast you have planned?”

“Something like that,” he mutters and waits, feeling apprehensive at this new character suddenly being thrown into his routine. 

Luckily, the man doesn’t say much else as he retrieves the jars of blood and carefully slides them into a roughly woven burlap sack. “Here, try not to knock them against anything. Last thing you want is for people to see you walking around town with a bloody sack over your shoulder.”

“Ja, that would not be good,” Caleb says, finding a clean spot on the counter to place his money as he counts each silver piece by piece. “Danke, Mister Fjord, please send my regards to Vandren.”

“Will do. If you ever need fresh fish, come down to the docks and find me,” Fjord says with a wave.

Nodding, he takes his leave and carefully walks with all his items to his final stop for the day: an inconspicuous little green door between shops that looks like it would lead to an apartment rather than a closed off room. He knocks and waits for a chirpy voice to beckon him inside before stepping through the door.

“Caleb! I thought it’d be you! How was the last party? Was it fun?” the young woman asks, skipping over from behind her desk. Then she gives him a once-over and frowns. “Caleb, what happened to your clothes? You’re super dirty!”

He frowns and looks down to see that the basket of vegetables did, in fact, smear dirt all over the side of his shirt. “Ah, so I am. Hallo, Jester. The party was fine.” 

Fluttering her eyelashes, she asks, “Just fine? Did you dance with anyone?”

Caleb thinks of his dance with Mollymauk and does his best to keep his expression neutral. “There was some dancing, ja.”

Jester smiles coyly at him, her short black hair trimmed into a neat bob and her dress simple but elegant enough to speak of some hidden wealth. “Was it with the same person as before?”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and in a desperate move to change the subject, he gives an offhanded wave and says, “Perhaps. It hardly matters now. I dropped by to see if you had the next invitation ready?”

She pouts, her hands at her hips. “Fine, don’t give me any of the _good_ details even though I’m the one who got you into this party to dance with this person who may or may not be the same person from last time, which I _technically_ also helped you get into, technically.”

“Ja, okay, it was the same person,” he concedes, unable to deny her wheedling. 

“I knew it! Did you have a magical time? Was there moonlight and starlight?” Caleb arches a brow at her description but then Jester clasps her hands together and sighs happily, “I bet it was just like _Tusk Love_!”

Caleb lets out a quiet huff. “I doubt anything will ever be quite like your book. But the invitation, Jester?”

“Yes! It’s done!” Jester tells him, turning back to rummage through her things before pulling out an envelope with an official looking wax seal. “One invitation to Baroness Mardun’s soiree for someone of no importance and definitely not worth announcing!”

Taking the envelope, he counts for her the last of the money he brought with him. “Thank you. I could not do this without you.”

Jester smiles, bright and sunny. “Of course! Anytime, Caleb! Just make sure you come back and tell me _all_ about the party!”

“I will. I always do,” Caleb says, smiling back at her briefly before nodding and taking his leave.

\--

Finally returning to the comfort of his own house, he sets his things down in the entryway with a relieved sigh as Nott and Frumpkin come running over to greet him. “Caleb, what happened!? You’re covered in blood!”

“Ja, I had an encounter with a quickling but it has been taken care of and I was not hurt,” he explains. Bringing the produce into the kitchen, he rolls up his sleeves and pulls out a jar of pig’s blood. Setting it on the ground carefully, Caleb gestures to the redcap. “Come, Nott the Brave, we need to soak that cap of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delphinium = levity, fun


	4. Balsamine

The pig’s blood seeps between his fingers, thick and viscous, but he’s done this enough times that it’s merely a passing thought now. Dunking the roughly woven cap into the liquid, he pulls it out and lets the excess drip back into the jar.

Next to him, Nott watches, her unnatural yellow eyes honed in and never leaving her hat. He wrings it out just enough to stop the dripping and carefully places it back on her head, the cloth now freshly soaked in a deep red. “Here you are. Another three days.”

The redcap doesn’t seem to notice her stringy black hair catching and absorbing the excess blood. Under the light of the sun outside, the cap glistens with the thick sheen of blood as Nott finally turns her head to look at him. “Thank you, Caleb. I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

Caleb smiles at her and gingerly nudges her with his elbow. It’s the best he can do until he cleans the mess off his hands. “Ja, I know. Maybe one day this will no longer be necessary. Maybe one day we will be able to stop this affliction of yours.”

He remembers meeting her out on a hunt months ago. There were two other redcaps and he’d just killed one and lost sight of the other. He was about to run after the other one when suddenly, there was a groan to the side and he watched as the remaining redcap stumble out from an alleyway and dropped dead, still clutching a crossbow bolt to its chest.

She appeared to him then, her cap splattered in the blood of her own kind. Intelligent golden eyes looked straight at him, wary but hopeful. It wasn’t a look he had ever seen on a redcap before, but that only made him clasp his own weapon tighter. “Hey, you. You’re a hunter, right? Can you kill me?” she said in careful Common, revealing a mouth lined with yellowed jagged teeth as she spoke.

Grip momentarily relaxing from surprise, Caleb frowned at the unexpected request. “What?”

The redcap gave an offhanded wave. “Listen, I don’t want to die but I can’t stand being like this. I don’t want to hurt people but sometimes I get this itch, and—just, _please_, can you help me?”

Against his better judgement and all of his training, he agreed, if only for curiosity sake. After a brief interrogation to determine her purpose and motivation, he decided to bring her back to the house where Frumpkin was already residing—to keep an eye on her, or so he reasoned.

“Caleb?”

Snapping out of his stupor, Caleb looks up, his hands still coated in blood. “Sorry, what is it?”

“Are you alright? You disappeared for a little bit. Gods, it hasn’t infected you, has it? The itch?” Nott asks earnestly, her concern causing her to dig her claws into his pant leg.

He looks down at his hands and shakes his head. “Ah, nein, I am fine. I was just thinking.” Getting up, he walks over to a basin water he had set up earlier and washes the blood out from between his fingers and underneath his nails. “I was thinking about how little progress I have made in helping you.”

The worry softens into fondness on Nott’s harsh features. “Don’t say that. You’ve helped me plenty, Caleb! You’re helping me right now! Without you, I’d still be out there hurting people. Maybe the itch would’ve gotten worse. We can’t know for sure, but I know I’m still more or less me because you’re here helping me. Besides, you’re the smartest person I know! If you can’t figure it out, no one else will.”

Caleb smiles a little at her reassurances. “Thank you. You are a good friend, but I fear you may be overestimating me, Nott the Brave. I am only human. But I will continue to do what I can to help you.”

Walking over to pat him on the leg, the redcap returns the smile. “That’s already more than I could ever ask for.”

\--

The baroness’ party creeps up on him as he spends his days in the library bothering Beauregard and hunting around town for errant creatures. Adjusting the flower on his lapel, he tries to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind his ear only to have it stubbornly pop back in place. 

“I think you look very regal,” Nott says. Frumpkin meows from where he’s perched on the window sill and she adds, “Frumpkin thinks so too!”

“Danke, it feels strange to shave again after so long,” Caleb admits, rubbing his chin. With his hair tied back and his beard gone, he barely recognizes himself in the mirror. In his reflection, he looks younger, more refreshed—more ready to take on whatever’s thrown his way tonight.

He can’t deny the excitement thrumming underneath his skin. The very thought of meeting the Mollymauk’s challenge has him licking his lips in anticipation. Noticing this, he schools his thoughts back to his duties. He adjusts his sleeves and takes inventory of his tools before turning around for Nott to do her usual inspection. “Will that flower fey be there again, you think?” she asks.

“Ja, I suspect there may be a possibility,” he answers, quickly turning his attention back to his sleeves.

Nott slaps his hand away and adjusts his cuffs until it’s to her liking. “There! It’s perfect now! Don’t touch it or I’ll kill you!” Holding his hands up in surrender, he lets her move on to the rest of his outfit. Humming to herself, Nott continues, clearly pleased, “I bet you’ll be able to catch him without a problem this time! He’ll be so floored by how good you look he won’t be able to run off on you!”

Face reddening, Caleb looks away. “That was not the intention.”

“I thought you wanted to question him?” Nott asks.

“Oh. Ja, that is true,” he mutters hastily. “Perhaps I will get lucky.”

The redcap smiles and fruitlessly tries to fix his hair. “With the way you look tonight? You won’t need luck.”

\--

“Entering Mister von Schickehose!”

He winces at the announcement, doing his best to blend in with the other guests as he walks through the entry hall. This isn’t the worst name Jester’s come up with for him so far, though he’s normally able to slip in without it being broadcasted like that. Luckily, without a title of significance, no one so much as bats an eye at him.

Relieved, Caleb slips past them and into the main hall where more guests are gathered. All the women are in decadent gowns and the men in immaculate suits, even more so than the last party. As he walks, the light bounces off the sea of jewellery amassed in the room, dancing and sparkling, some nearly blinding. With the size of the manor, even with areas sealed off, it would be a task to find anyone let alone a fey.

Playing with his cuffs, Caleb spends a bit of time walking around and studying all the rooms opened to guests before returning to the main hall. He scans the room, looking for a place to set himself up to survey as much as he can. Noticing a spot near the back corner of the room, he starts approaching his goal when a woman intersects him. For a moment, he feels his heart skip a beat, but it quickly returns to normal when he sees that it’s simply a normal woman—though normal isn’t the most accurate way to describe her either.

Ophelia Mardun stands before him with a glass of wine pinched delicately between her fingers. Immaculately dressed in a formal jacket with epaulettes, all tailored to emphasize her figure, it’s not hard to imagine that any piece of her outfit is probably worth more than his entire life. Her long black hair falls perfectly straight down to her ankles and without any effort, she exudes an air of confidence and power.

Caleb dips his head respectfully. “Lady Mardun.”

She smiles a little curiously at him. “Herr von Schickehose, was it? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were disappointed.”

He jerks his head up at the sound of his native tongue and responds in kind, “Not disappointed, merely surprised. And pleasantly surprised now, in fact, to hear Zemnian.”

“Yes, I was hoping to find you if only to know that I have a compatriot here,” the hostess says amicably, raising her glass in a toast. “It’s been far too long since I last spoke my mother tongue and even longer since I’ve had someone to reminisce with.”

Nodding in understanding, Caleb says honestly, “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen my home.”

Back when he still had one, anyway.

Ophelia sighs, “Indeed. I have been to many places but none ever hold the same beauty as the Zemni Fields.”

Despite himself, he enjoys talking to the baroness about their homes and the things they miss about it. The woman is undeniably beautiful. She carries herself with elegance and poise and speaks with an eloquence few possess, but still, Caleb finds himself distracted. Keeping his tone engaged, he does his best to keep an eye on his surroundings for any sign of change in the atmosphere.

The sign comes when he sees the reflections in the tall windows lining the room blink out for half a second. 

“So what do you do here, Herr von Schickehose?”

“Research,” he replies easily, his eyes drifting back over to the window. They show no signs of change and none of the guests seem to have noticed, but there’s a slight charge in the air that sends the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “I am a bit of a scholar, you see.”

Ophelia finishes her drink and a servant immediately brings her a new glass and an additional one for him. “Only a bit? Tell me, what is it that someone who’s only a bit of a scholar studies?”

Accepting the offered glass, he takes a sip. No matter how much he looks around the room, Caleb already knows he’s missed Mollymauk’s entrance. With so much area to cover and the fey’s promise of a challenge, to try to pick him out in the crowd now will be next to impossible without the adder stone. Mind already racing to come up with a plan to locate the fey before he leaves, he almost forgets to answer. “Ah, I, uh, I study the strange and supernatural,” he mutters, stumbling over the words. “It’s a hobby of mine.”

At this, Ophelia arches a brow in interest. “Really now, how curious.”

Just then, another servant walks over and whispers something to the baroness. Something about the woman’s gaze is off—a bit too unfocused, too starry-eyed. Caleb immediately glances around, trying to hone in on anyone who stands out.

Nothing.

Ophelia heaves a sigh at the message and straightens her outfit. Downing the rest of her wine in a single gulp, she passes the glass to her servant and says, “Please excuse me, Herr von Schickehose. I’m afraid a certain guest has arrived and I cannot afford to leave him unattended.”

“No, I apologize for keeping you from your other guests,” Caleb quickly replies.

Her lips curl slightly. “Believe me when I say you were doing me a favour. Perhaps we will speak again before the night is up. It is rare to find a fellow Zemnian in this place.”

He nods and bows. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Mardun.”

When the woman turns around and walks away, Caleb immediately turns to scan the crowd again. None of the guests spare him any attention beyond a quick glance, some curious, some envious, and none Mollymauk.

Suddenly, he hears a playful whisper in his ear. “A charming woman to be sure. You seemed to be enjoying yourself. Should I bring her back for you?”

Caleb stills. There’s nothing in his periphery but the voice is undeniably clear. Switching back to Common, he mutters, “Nein, that will not be necessary.”

He gets a sound of approval at that, so pleased it has him stifling a smile in return. “Shall we play then, Mister Caleb?”

“That is what I came to do.”

Molly chuckles. “Is that so? I’ll have to make it worth your while then. There _is_ one condition though.”

Arching a brow, he says, “Name it.”

“Hmm, so confident today. Was it your talk with the baroness?” the fey muses, the teasing smile in his voice so clear Caleb can practically picture it. “Our usual game, but you are only allowed to use your little stone once and only for eight—no, five seconds. Do you accept?”

“I suppose I have to,” Caleb replies softly, anticipation already building as he considers his options. “This one use—it can be whenever I want?”

“Yes,” the voice answers. “No smile. No eyes. How will you find me now, little hunter?”

Caleb lets out a soft huff. “The same way I have always found you, Mollymauk.”

There’s a delighted laugh that fades into din of the party all around him.

He waits a little longer but receives no further instructions. Rubbing the back of his neck, he scans the crowd but nothing seems out of place. Thinking back to the fey’s words, he quickly concludes that Mollymauk won’t be amongst the guests here. No smile. No eyes. The fey will probably rely on invisibility rather than glamour tonight. Satisfied with his logic, he leaves the room and scours other places.

Area after area, he systematically scans his surroundings. But although the decor changes, nothing about the other rooms affords him any new clues. And still, time continues ticking away. Some of the guests watch him curiously but none deign to speak to him, and luckily, whatever trick Mollymauk pulled seems to be keeping the baroness busy for the moment.

Crossing his arms, he considers other places the fey could comfortably hide. This game has already taken longer than he expected, and he doesn’t like the idea of the evening passing him by as he stands here and ponders. The adder stone might help, but he’s not willing to use it just yet.

Nothing in his training prepared him for something like this, and realistically speaking, Mollymauk wouldn’t be limited by the same restraints as other guests. He could be anywhere in the manor. He could be upstairs—Caleb carefully steers his thoughts away from that—in the cellar, or even outside...

Perking up, he walks over towards the windows and glances out into the gardens. The skies are overcast but bright as the moon continues to shine through the veil of clouds. In the gardens, he sees rows and rows of immaculately planted bushes and flowers, mostly bare and dormant for autumn save a single bush of pale pink and white flowers that bloom in bundles.

And beyond that, he spots hedges—the sides of an elaborate labyrinth.

Caleb scans the rest of the garden for any additional clues but finds none. Still, he’s reasonably certain that his conclusion is sound. The unnatural blooming of the flowers and the dramatic flair of a labyrinth. Where else would Mollymauk be?

He weaves his way around the guests and slips out a side door through some unlit room. Outside, he pulls his coat around him a little tighter when the biting winds hit him. There’s a dampness in the air that makes him look up to the skies for rain. What a shame it’d be if it rained on them in the middle of their little game. He wonders if Mollymauk even gets affected by things in this realm like weather.

Feet carrying him forward, he tries to keep his footsteps light as he moves down a path and through the garden—not that it’ll help. Not that he could ever hope to sneak up on the fey with all his magic and supernatural abilities.

Stepping past the flowers, Caleb spares them a glance and briefly considers plucking one but stows the idea away for later. He steps through the entrance to the labyrinth and narrows his eyes to adjust his vision when the skies seem to dim, the light unable to penetrate the looming greenery that make up the corridor walls.

Recalling the twists and turns of the labyrinth from his vantage point back in the manor, Caleb begins walking, not wanting to waste any more time. Turning and pivoting around corner after corner, he navigates his way down the path all while trying to track the progress he’s made. 

As he nears the center of the labyrinth, he reaches into his pocket and brings out the adder stone. Heart speeding up with anticipation, he takes another right and suddenly, the path widens into a large space lined with wooden benches and ornate marble statues decorated to look older than they really are. 

Bringing the stone up to his eye, Caleb peers through it and smiles. “Ah, there you are, Mister Mollymauk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balsamine = impatience


	5. Amaryllis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this awesome [board](https://pin.it/zogpnyzqkindny) by Tommy! Find her at [vaporwane](https://vaporwane.tumblr.com/)

“Ah, there you are, Mister Mollymauk.”

_One._

Standing in the center of the labyrinth with his arms by his side, the fey tilts his head slightly and smiles back, as warm but enigmatic as ever. “So I am, Mister Caleb.” 

_Two._

He looks much the same as that first night they met, when he allowed Caleb to get a glimpse of his true form. Lavender skin decorated in scars and tattoos and piercing red eyes peering at him through the darkness. 

_Three._

Rather than a translucent silks or elaborate dress, Molly is in something simpler this time—simpler but no less colourful. 

_Four._

This time, he dons a maroon coat decorated in symbols and patterns that Caleb can’t discern and a simple silk shirt underneath.

_Five._

Caleb takes the sight in the best he can and lowers the stone. Speaking to the now empty space, he says, “I met your challenge. I followed your rules. Will you show yourself to me?”

There’s a soft noise of mirth and then silence. He wonders for a moment if Mollymauk means to leave him like this and thinks to bring the stone back up to his eye when he feels something warm just in front of him. His eyes tell him there’s nothing but empty space ahead, but the rest of his senses say different. 

Breathing in the scent of flowers and incense, he looks straight ahead at what he can’t see. Anticipation and magic dance like electricity over his skin but he holds still and waits.

“I left clues for you, you know?” Molly says, his voice soft and so very close. “All around.”

“You also only allotted me five seconds,” he replies. “I made a calculated risk.”

And it paid off.

A laugh, and hands reach out and cup his face, hot despite the weather and soft despite the scars, followed by a warm breath on his cheek. Caleb closes his eyes instinctively and feels lips brushing lightly over each of his eyelids, lingering just long enough for his heart to skip a beat.

“Your reward, little hunter. I trust this will suffice?”

He opens his eyes and blinks a few times, adjusting to the sudden _vividness_ of the world. Even in the dark of the night, the trees around him seem to glow with life and in front of him, Molly takes a step back and makes a sweeping gesture, positively radiant in his magical splendor.

“Is this how you see the world?” Caleb asks, hardly daring to breathe.

“Not quite,” the fey replies after a moment of thought. “It’s far brighter for me, I think. There’s magic all around us that you humans miss and beautiful patterns in the sky, but you need not bother with that. It’s only a glimpse, but tell me: do you enjoy seeing the world like this?”

Looking directly at Mollymauk, he replies, “It is very beautiful indeed.”

Molly’s smile widens. “Flatterer. It works.” Reaching out, he twirls a loose strand of auburn hair around his finger and tucks it behind his ear, adding, “I see you’ve cleaned up very nicely yourself.” 

Heat rising to his face at the compliment, he reaches up subconsciously to run a hand over his shaven face. “I was overdue for a shave.”

“Is that so? I didn’t mind your beard at all but this is nice too.” Straightening, the fey nods toward the direction he came from and says, “Come, Mister Caleb, I can’t stay long and I’d hate to leave you all alone in this maze.”

Finally tearing his eyes away from the fey’s face, Caleb glances to the shimmering air behind him. Much like that first night, Mollymauk’s wings elude his sight. Then he glances down to see the little flower tucked in his lapel aglow.

When he looks up again, ruby eyes are watching him expectantly, patient and amused. “Ah, forgive me, Mollymauk,” he mumbles reflexively, offering up his arm, “I am keeping you waiting.”

Linking arms with him, Molly laughs and begins walking, his feet never quite touching the ground. “I wasn’t going to keep you from enjoying the sights.”

He gives a start when he feels something wrap around leg. Glancing down, he sees a long thin tail loosen and slither away. “Oh.”

“Don’t mind that, it has a mind of its own sometimes,” the fey says with an offhanded wave as if talking about an errant child rather than his tail.

“No, you caught me off guard, ja, but that is—I did not mind,” Caleb says, gaze following the appendage curiously.

Molly studies him for a moment. The tail doesn’t return to its place around his leg, striking an unexpected pang of disappointment in him, but it does relax and sway easily behind not unlike Frumpkin when he idly struts around the house. “Good to know, but time for that later, perhaps. I am curious to see how you handle this gift of mine. I understand it takes some getting used to.”

“There is a lot to see,” he admits, eyes slowly trailing over the walls of the labyrinth, honing in on the faint glow of insects and creatures hidden on and within the hedges. Eventually, his gaze settles back on his otherworldly companion. “It is a little overwhelming.”

“Be glad we’re out here in the calm then. You should see your parties,” the fey replies lightly.

Caleb arches a brow. “Do humans emit a lot of magic?”

Molly shrugs and leans in, their shoulders brushing briefly. Caleb files away the feel of delicate embroidered silk against his fingers for later consideration. “Not too much, and some more than others. But when there’s enough of you in one room, it can be quite pretty. And the jewellery! There’s always so much jewellery!”

The conversation is so natural it only registers with him moments later that he’s discussing _magic _with a _fey_. The realization has him smiling at how absurd the very concept is. Nothing in his training ever prepared him for anything like _this_.

Emboldened by the thought, Caleb reaches up with his free hand to brush a finger against the twinkling charms dangling from the fey’s horns. He keeps his movement slow enough for Molly to easily duck away if he wanted to—though he doubts there’s very much he _could_ do against the fey’s will.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his fingers come into contact with light, glimmering metals he can’t quite name. Exhaling, he admires the trinkets and whispers, “You have quite a bit of jewellery yourself, Mister Mollymauk.”

“Yes, I’m quite partial to jewellery. But some of the things in that house? Best to be avoided,” Molly says, his voice hushed and his eyes trained squarely on him. There’s wariness and curiosity there in equal measure, but the fey makes no move to back away. 

Taking his chances, Caleb raises his hand ever so slightly to run his fingers over the rough ridges and grooves of Mollymauk’s horn. When he doesn’t meet any resistance, he traces the curve of the horn down to the tip and asks distractedly, “Why? Are they cursed?”

Molly shivers slightly at his touch and stops walking. Turning to face him, he replies, “Some are, certainly, and some are so hideous they may as well be.”

He chuckles despite himself. “You are ridiculous, though I suppose I should have expected that.”

The grin returns to the fey’s lips and Caleb finds himself captivated by it. “What better thing to be in the mundane world?” 

Caleb thinks then to do something horribly reckless and ill-advised—something that would undermine a life’s worth of training. But before he can act on the impulse, there’s a faint rumbling in the distance that has Mollymauk turning his head.

Whatever was building in that moment dissipates and air seems to rush back to his lungs. A spell, surely, he thinks, adding one more thing for him to look up during his next visit to the Cobalt Soul.

Attention back to their task at hand, Molly continues walking, gently pulling him along. “Come along, little hunter, that was my cue to hurry.”

“Do you normally have a time limit?” Caleb asks a little breathlessly, his arm falling back to his side though his fingers still thrumming with sensation.

The fey seems to consider his question. “Nothing so strict. But enough questions for me. We don’t have much time left and I want to ask you things too.”

He blinks at the sudden request. “Ja, okay? I will do my best to answer them.”

Molly casts his gaze down to the ground then to him, his brows knitting together as if facing a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “You...” he begins and trails off. After a moment, he shakes his head and smiles instead. “Tell me about beards, Mister Caleb. What is the most amazing beard you’ve ever seen?”

\--

It doesn’t take them very long to wind their way back to the exit after that. This time, out in the open, he watches the sky light up with a brilliant glow and crackle as lightning forks down from the clouds. With the storm looming so close, Caleb can’t help but shiver, feeling the static in the air prickle at his skin. 

Then he notices something.

Narrowing his eyes, he thinks he can make out a figure standing in the distance with splayed wings of black, so starkly monochrome compared to the fey beside him.

He’s about to point it out, but with a bounce in his step, Molly unlinks their arms and moves toward the storm and Caleb’s side immediately feels emptier for it. Turning around, eyes alight with mischief, the fey tells him, “Well, this has been a lovely evening as always, Mister Caleb. Consider this a gift for your time: you probably don’t want to go back to the baroness’.”

“I will take that into consideration,” he replies.

“Clever man,” the fey coos in approval, brushing the long, unruly bangs out of his eyes. As though pleased with his work, Molly nods to himself and leans forward and plants a kiss on Caleb’s forehead.

Caleb blinks and suddenly, it’s as if someone blew out all the lights. The world darkens and dulls without the sparkle of subtle magics, and more pressingly, without Mollymauk.

His vision slowly readjusts and when it finally clears up, he looks over to the direction he’d seen the figure, but all that stands there now is empty space beneath a rumbling sky, the thunder already moving away. He’s never encountered any fey like that before, but Mollymauk went in that direction…

Shaking his head, he starts looking around for a fairy ring but fails to spot one until he notices a splash of red on the bush of pink flowers. Upon closer inspection, he sees that a new kind of flower has sprouted and intertwined with the pink, splendid and bold even in the dark of the night.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Caleb decides that it’s inconspicuous enough to be left alone. It seems that Mollymauk heeded his advice after all, he thinks with a smile. Reaching out, he picks one of the flowers and carefully tucks it away in his pocket and walks away, mind already busy spinning stories and lies for his report.

\--

The next day is filled with gossip on the streets, though somehow, none of it makes it to print. Judging by people’s whispers, there were quite a few...salacious _connections_ being made at the baroness’ manor when all of the doors suddenly flew open, leaving the occupants exposed to the scrutiny of their fellow guests and staff.

It’s said that Ophelia Mardun herself was caught with a gentleman friend who managed to remain unnamed, though it’s uncertain whether that was through her power or his own. Despite being unnamed, many felt the need to point out that this was a different person from the unknown man she spent the start of her evening so enthusiastically conversing with.

Not particularly invested in gossip and pointedly ignoring that last bit, Caleb finds himself more distracted by the fact that Mollymauk failed to invite him to another challenge before leaving. 

A full week passes and try as he might, he can’t set the thought aside. The red flower he plucked from the baroness’ garden has wilted and withered but he finds himself unable to throw it out, not when it’s still such a brilliant red like—pinching the bridge of his nose, he gives into his anxiety and gets up. Frumpkin meows and leaps off the window sill, winding around his feet as he walks and Nott pokes her head out from the room where she’s been playing with the chemistry set he bought her. “Caleb? Are you okay? You’ve been very distracted lately.”

“I am alright,” he reassures her, going so far as to flash her a smile. “I am just going to go pick up supplies in town. Is there anything in particular you need?”

The redcap shakes her head. “No, be careful out there! If anyone tries to mess with you, you let me know and I’ll shoot them!”

Caleb nods. “Of course. I know I can always count on you, Nott the Brave.” Seemingly satisfied, she grins at him and disappears back into the room. There’s a soft meow and he looks down and picks the fey cat up. “Ja, I know I can count on you too, Frumpkin. Danke.”

Frumpkin slowly blinks at him and starts purring in his arms.

\--

Unwilling to put the cat down, he sets out a little later than anticipated and finds himself standing in front of a familiar inconspicuous little green door. Knocking, he’s immediately greeted by Jester’s voice.

“Hang on! I’m putting clothes on!”

Caleb arches a brow in alarm and clears his throat. “Jester, you did not need to divulge that to me.”

“But if I’m naked and I don’t say it, then you won’t know if I’m naked or not,” comes the reply.

“I did not need to know and still do not need to know,” he replies, turning to rest his back to the doorframe. “I am more than happy to wait outside if you just ask.”

A laugh. “Whatever you say, Cay-leb! You can come in now!”

Frowning, he asks, “Are you certain? There is no need to rush.”

“Yes! Get your butt in here, Caleb!”

He waits another minute before letting himself in to find Jester smiling at him from her desk. Her hands are folded and her clothes immaculate as always. “Hallo Jester, it is good to see you dressed.”

Jester leers at him and waggles her eyebrows. “I’ll have you know I look very good naked.”

Heat rising to his cheeks, Caleb shrugs. “Ja, I am sure—please, there is no need to demonstrate.”

Relaxing as if she’d been ready to do exactly that, Jester asks, “So what can I do for you today? Do you have another party in mind?”

Caleb rubs the back of his neck, the heat still lingering, though this time from sheepishness. “Ah, I was actually hoping to ask you about that. I have not heard of any events worth attending on my end, have you?”

“Parties, parties, parties,” she mutters to herself, rubbing her chin in thought. “Nothing good coming up. I mean, there are _some _parties. There’s always parties, but they won’t be any fun and they won’t be anything like the ones you’ve been going to. Why are you asking? Did you dance with your _secret lover_ again?”

“Nein!” he manages to stammer out. “No to all of those things. No secret lover and no dancing.”

Steepling her fingers, Jester leans forward. “Was there _kissing_?”

He immediately thinks back to the kisses on his eyelids and his forehead and shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

Jester’s shoulders slump in disappointment and she slouches in her seat a little. “Oh, that’s a shame. Parties are all about the kissing, you know?”

“I will...take your word for it,” Caleb mumbles. “So, no parties coming up.”

“No good parties coming up,” she confirms. “Do you want me to go ahead and make an invitation for you if I hear about something fun you might like?”

Caleb perks up at the idea, then quickly curses himself for his eagerness. “Ja, that—that would be good. If you would not mind.” Reaching for his sack of coin, he mutters, “I can pay you for half of it now—as a deposit for your troubles.”

She looks like she’s ready to decline his offer but he’s already counting out the gold, piece by piece. 

Suddenly, he hears a soft, lilting voice in his ear that nearly sends his money flying.

“You know, Mister Caleb, between the two of us, sometimes I wonder if you aren’t the fey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amaryllis = splendid beauty


	6. Gladiolus

“Actually, we’ve developed magic for counting so in a way, you’re really tapping into cultural roots here.”

Ignoring the teasing remark, Caleb quickly finishes counting out his coin. Handing it over to Jester, who furrows her brow at his sudden change in mood and asks, “Caleb, are you okay?”

He nods and mutters, “I am fine. I just remembered something I need to do quite urgently. Please, let me know if anything comes up, ja?” 

“Leaving so soon?” Mollymauk whispers in his ear, distracting him from Jester’s reply. It’s light and playful and Caleb _needs to get out of here_. “Shame, I was hoping to hear more about parties.”

“There is nothing good coming up,” he mutters back quickly. Shaking his head, he takes a step towards the door and says more clearly, “Thank you, Jester. I will come by again another time.”

Jester merely cocks her head curiously. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye out! Make sure to tell me if there’s kissing next time!”

There’s an airy laugh. “I should give you something to tell her about.”

Face heating up despite his best attempt at ignoring the comment, Caleb quickly takes his leave. He exits out the little green door and onto the bustling street. No one pays him any mind, but he’s cautious all the same. “_Mollymauk_,” he hisses under his breath as he walks, “what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, incidentally. Just as you were looking for me, apparently,” the fey’s voice floats through the air, the source still nowhere to be seen.

Caleb rounds a corner and continues down an alleyway lined with empty crates. Stopping half-way, well out of sight of any people passing by, he asks, “Why are you looking for me in the middle of the day?”

There’s a noise of disappointment. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I cannot see you,” he retorts.

There’s a shimmer in the air and a man appears next to him—the same beautiful man as that first night on the roof. Wavy locks of dark brown hair tied back with a deep crimson ribbon and sun-kissed skin, and rather than the luxurious translucent silks this time, he is donning a bright maroon coat, much like that night in the labyrinth. Arms spread in display, Molly arches a brow. “Is this more to your liking?”

He frowns and refuses to let his eyes linger, looking off to the side instead. All of this is too unusual, too much of a break from habit to be anything but bad news. “It is a start, perhaps, but you still have not answered my question. Why are you here?”

Mollymauk merely smiles and holds out a hand. “Walk with me, Mister Caleb. I think I saw a nice bowl of cream by the library though I generally prefer alcohol or tea.”

“Nein. You are stalling.” Standing his ground, his frown deepens. “Mollymauk, we are not going anywhere until you answer my question.”

The fey throws his head back and laughs though there’s something hollow about it. “Straight to it, huh? That’s very bold but I like it. It’s a good look on you.”

Before Caleb can answer, he feels a familiar prickle that sends a shiver down his spine. Out of his periphery, he sees a shape appear. Pulling out the adder’s stone, he looks down the alleyway to find an ugly creature staring him down. Small and bare save the tuffs of hair spread across its back, covering patches of cysts and sores, the meenlock snarls back at him.

Next to him, Molly cocks his head curiously at the creature but makes no move to attack or defend.

The creature blinks blearily at them, its pupil-less yellow eyes unaccustomed to the light of day. He hasn’t seen a meenlock since his training days, when he and the others were sent down into caves with the task of clearing them out...over and over again. What a pain it was, both physically and mentally. The creatures were ruthless and the caves claustrophobic, but he came out all the stronger for it.

They all did.

Pulling the iron spike from his pocket, he lowers the stone and takes a step forward, relying on his other senses to track the meenlock. Although it’s been a while, his training and experience don’t fail him. He parries the first blow, predictable and frontal, and briefly glimpses through the adder stone again to readjust his aim and thrusts.

There’s the sound of flesh being pierced followed by a sizzle and the smell of burning, rotting flesh. A hiss comes and he brings the stone back to his eye to dodge out of the way of that ruthless set of jagged yellowed claws. Without pause, Caleb swings his arm back with the spike and strikes true. Although his eyes fail to register it, he feels blood and flesh coat his hand and the creature impaled on the cold iron goes limp.

From behind him, there’s applauding. 

“_Very well done_, little hunter. No hesitation whatsoever. Seeing you in action really is something else.”

Caleb wrinkles his nose and pulls his weapon back, throwing the invisible remains to the ground with the flick of a wrist. He whirls around to point it at Mollymauk and blinks when he sees the fey sitting on a nearby crate, free of glamour and fully visible. Molly smiles and he recomposes himself. “This creature was your doing, wasn’t it? They would not venture to the surface during the day and alone.”

Tail curling lazily by his side, the fey nods with feigned interest. “That’s very good. You know your meenlock. You know, for someone who cannot see us without magics or stones, you’re very good at your job.”

Cold iron steady in his hand, he frowns. “I will ask you one last time, Mollymauk. What are your intentions here?”

Expression now indiscernible, Molly smiles slightly and tilts his head. “Again with that wording. If you must know, Mister Caleb, I’m here to do my job—and to say goodbye.”

He blinks again and suddenly, the scenery around them begins shifting and shimmering. None of the people on the streets take notice of them as the town seems to fade away into an empty field. Caleb arches a brow and looks around, though he keeps one eye trained on the fey. “Is this the Feywild?” he asks, his shoulders tense.

Molly shakes his head, his demeanor still carefree and easy. “Not quite. It’s Feywild adjacent, if you will. The Feywild is much prettier than this.” Suddenly on his feet, he reaches around and stretches his arms, rolling his shoulders back with a sigh. “You know, I got quite the stern talking to because of you.”

“Because of me?” he asks, brows furrowing. He searches the fey’s face for some kind of answer but all he sees is a little sheepishness and a rueful smile.

“Because we all have our roles to play and I got caught slacking. You have your job and I, well...” Unsheathing the twin swords at his hips, he twirls them around. “Unfortunately, this is mine,” he says, charging forward.

Caleb stumbles back. Parrying glass with iron, he mentally takes stock of everything in his arsenal. Quickly realizing that nothing short of cold iron will stop a fey of this magnitude, he retaliates with a swing and watches Mollymauk effortlessly fly back before the spike can make contact. “_Mollymauk_, why are you doing this?”

Swords twirling idly in his hands, Molly merely cocks his head. “Why? You keep asking me that. Answer me this, Caleb Widogast, why do you hunt the fey?”

He stumbles a little at the question. “Why do I—it is my job! I have obligations to the people of my town. I do as I am told and it keeps people safe! This is how it’s always been!”

To his surprise, a frown mars the fey’s face as he stills. Voice low and strained, Molly asks, “That’s how it’s always been? So you hunt us because it’s all you know? You burn us with iron because you’re told? Not because we’re bad or dangerous?” 

The answer dies on his lips when he’s charged at again. He lets out a grunt, blocking the attack with his spike. Stepping back, the second blade cuts into his lapel, splitting the fabric. “I don’t want to fight you, Mollymauk! I mean you no harm!”

Crimson eyes narrow as he takes another swing. “Even though it’s _how it’s always been_?”

Once more, he thinks back to the two waiting for him at home, always so anxious and fretful for his safety. Meeting the fey’s attacks the best he can though not with complete success, Caleb stumbles back and replies as honestly as he can, “I am trying to change! Things are not as they used to be—I…” He briefly considers bringing Nott and Frumpkin up but decides against it. To drag those two into this because of his carelessness would be unforgivable. “I am trying to change. I am trying to hunt only those that would do us harm.”

Molly pauses and leans forward, scrutinizing him. “You claim this, but what good is the word of a human? One fundamental difference between us is that you can lie.”

“That may be true but I have never lied to you, Mollymauk. Not since we met. I have always played by your rules, haven’t I?” he tries. “I still am, and I am telling the truth now.”

The fey exhales, twirling his swords easily as he gets ready for another attack. “Prove it.”

“How?”

Molly raises a blade and points it at him. “Tell me your name.”

Caleb bristles at the suggestion. “You know I cannot do that.”

“Then what other assurance can you possibly give me, Caleb Widogast?” Molly asks, his voice dispassionate.

He asks warily, “What happens if I cannot give you any?”

A shrug. “Then we fight and I’ll win. You may be a fey hunter but I am a _fey_ hunter. We both have jobs to do and your judgement will not wait any longer.”

Glancing up at Molly, he hates that his mind continues to whisper to him how the fey’s hair seems to curl around his ears just so. “Judgement...is this why you have been seeking me out, Mollymauk?” 

Thinking back, his stomach drops. He sees now what a perfect place a labyrinth was for a fey to disappear a person. What a fool he’d been, letting his guard down like that. And for what? The promise of games and dances?

“Why didn’t you get rid of me in the labyrinth? You were supposed to, weren’t you?” Caleb demands, fingers still wrapped around the iron. He grips the weapon tightly though the idea of using it on Mollymauk isn’t an appealing one. “Is that why you got in trouble?”

Molly doesn’t answer, but the agitated flicker of his tail is more than enough. “I’m still waiting, Caleb. We can’t put this off any longer.”

His mind races, trying to connect all his thoughts together into something coherent—something that will stop Mollymauk. Something that will turn the situation around to his advantage. He considers everything and looks at his opponent, those crimson eyes weary but resolved, and he decides to take a calculated risk. “Alright.”

The fey visibly falters. “Alright?”

“Alright,” he repeats. Lowering the spike slowly, he maintains eye contact with the fey and says, “If that is the only thing that will prove to you that my word is true, I will say it.”

“You’ll say it, just like that? Just because I asked?” Molly taunts, though the uncertainty remains.

“Ja, because I do not want to fight you, Mollymauk.” He takes in a deep breath. “My name is B—”

Molly closes his eyes. “_Stop_.”

Caleb stops and so does the rest of the world it seems. The very air seems to still and the fey turns away, exposing his back. 

He sees his chance to strike.

…and doesn’t take it.

Instead, he lowers the iron the rest of the way and says quietly, “I will not hurt you. Will you believe me now, Mollymauk?”

There’s a long pause. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the intensity behind Molly’s gaze disappears and the fey seems to deflate, arms falling to his side. “I do believe you, Caleb Widogast.” With an exasperated huff, he mutters, “Why are humans so messy? You lie all the time but then you also go and make yourselves so vulnerable just to prove a point. Why can’t—_why can’t you just stop hunting us_?”

Caleb takes a step back warily, keeping a loose grip on his weapon just in case. Softly, he replies, “It is not always ideal, I know, but it is still my job to deal with threats from the Feywild.”

Molly glances up almost sullenly. “And me? Am I a threat?”

He purses his lips. He’s been asking himself the same question since they first met. “I have not figured you out just yet.”

The fey appears to relax a little at this, giving a soft chuckle. “I get that a lot. Fine, let me know when you figure it out and give me a chance to run. I’d hate to get burned by iron again.”

Taken aback, questions come pouring out of him without thought. “Again? You’ve been hunted before? A fey of your calibre?”

Lips twisting into a wry grin, Molly clicks his tongue and replies, “I appreciate the flattery, but this isn’t about me, is it? Shouldn’t you be more concerned about your own well-being?”

Looking down at himself, he says, “Well, I am still alive. I take it you are not going to fight or kill me anymore?”

“Oh? That’s a bold assumption” A sigh. “But no, I’ve decided that I don’t want to.” Then, as if they weren’t just on the brink of a stand-off, Molly sheaths his swords and steps forward and leans in close to study him. “You’re a strange one but not a bad one, and I’m quite fond of strange.”

Caught up in the fey’s capriciousness, all Caleb can do is follow suit, pocketing his own weapon with relief. “That’s it, then?” There’s a shallow cut on his arm and his coat will need some patching, but that’s the worst of it. He imagines it could’ve gone much worse had the fey actually meant to do him grievous harm. 

Molly’s smile widens into something more genuine—something more familiar as he reaches up to pat Caleb on the cheek, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s such a terribly mundane thing for such an ethereal creature, Caleb can’t help but stare. “That’s it, little hunter. You passed my judgement. Hooray for us all.”

“And who are you to be in a position to make these decisions?” he can’t help but ask, even though he’s half-dreading the answer. “You are not just a typical fey, are you?”

“No, not in any sense of the word,” Molly returns. A breeze blows through the endless fields, and suddenly, as if sensing the shift in tone, flowers begin springing from the tall grasses. “Typical! What a horrible thing to be. My dear Mister Caleb, like I said, I’m a hunter.”

Caleb stifles the urge to roll his eyes. “Ja, a fey hunter. That was very clever. And what do you hunt?”

Laughing, Molly shrugs. “I thought it was quite good. And, it depends. Sometimes I hunt the same things as you, and sometimes I hunt _you_. I can’t give away _all_ of our inner workings or we won’t be able to maintain our air of mystery.”

He snorts. “What a loss that would be.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Looking around, Molly plucks a flower from the field and twirls it around with a contemplative smile. “I suppose you deserve a reward for passing. The short version? I’m a hunter who was called here because there was talk of a fey hunter in town with a very high success rate. You’ll be pleased to know that there are folks around here who are willing to speak up for you.”

Blinking, he immediately thinks to Nott, but he doubts any fey Mollymauk answers to would listen to a redcap. “There are more fey in this town?”

“I didn’t say that, exactly.”

“So they are human?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Realizing he won’t be making any progress with this line of questioning, he settles for “But there are people who are willing to vouch for my character.”

Molly nods. “A few, in fact. Enough that I had to...evaluate these claims first. Make sure you weren't just killing indiscriminately and all that.”

“And?”

A smile and hands go to brush the hair out of his face. “And I was pleasantly surprised by you, Mister Caleb. You’re an excellent conversationalist and dancer. I think I’ll miss attending parties with you.”

The words sink in and Caleb frowns. “You are leaving?”

Molly nods again, glancing off to the distance a little ruefully. “My job here is done. I judged you and found you worthy, little hunter. But there’s a little time left.” A smile. “Enough time for one more party. One more dance. Consider this my invitation.”

“Which one? There is nothing worth attending—according to my friend.”

The fey makes a vague gesture. “You’ll know. Somewhere with a roof to dance on. Your friend will know. She seems to have an eye for good parties.”

“She does,” Caleb agrees. “She likes to keep up with these things.” In the distance, the skies in this strange dimension darkens and thunders. He tenses up. “The storm fey is with you, then, Mollymauk?”

The fey looks up affectionately at the greying skies. “Indeed. My lovely, my partner, my charm. Probably here to tell me to hurry up. I think you’d like her.”

It occurs to Caleb then how little he knows of higher fey society. He’s read the lore and heard the tales but nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Not for a hunter and his storm. “A partner? She hunts with you?” he asks, his voice coming out sharper than he intended it to.

Leaning in a little closer to glance up at his expression, Mollymauk bursts into laughter at whatever he finds there. “Yes, she hunts with me but I’m the only one hunting you. There’s no need to be jealous, Mister Caleb.”

What does it matter, he wants to argue back. Instead, he reminds himself that he has people waiting for him back home and a promise he’s put off for too long. “How reassuring,” he mutters wryly. “Ah, before you leave, Mister Mollymauk, I do have a question I have been meaning to ask you.”

Turning back around, the fey asks, “Yes?”

“What do you know of transformed fey?”

It’s Molly’s turn to blink. “Plenty. I hunt them much the same as you.”

Caleb rubs his the back of his neck a little sheepishly. “Nein, this is not about hunting them. Do you know if the transformation is reversible?”

“Well, nothing is truly permanent, little hunter. Not you or I or any changes imposed on a creature,” Molly tells him airily. “It’s a little trickier with fey. A favour from the court might be able to change their form back but the transformation normally changes them wholly beyond reconciliation.”

“Is that the only way? How does one gain favour with a court? And which court?” Caleb asks in rapid succession.

The fey arches a brow, a curious frown on his lips. “Caleb, I think you need to explain the situation to me.”

He shakes his head, answering automatically, “Not if this will endanger her.”

“Well, I will need more information at least. Whoever ‘she’ is, she’s not lost herself to the transformation?” Molly asks, crossing his arms.

“No, there are occasional...itches, but those come and go,” Caleb replies. “They are mostly under control and she has not harmed anyone since I have known her.”

Head tilting to the side, the fey continues, “Interesting. And she’s worth the hassle of engaging the courts?”

Caleb nods. “I made her a promise that I would help her. She is...a very dear friend to me.”

Molly smiles a little at this. “I wish you’d just told me that at the beginning. We could’ve saved ourselves a fight—not that you could really call it that. Oh well, I did enjoy seeing you in action.” Caleb pointedly ignores the remark. “Now, to be clear, I have no intention of hurting your redcap friend or the other one.”

Surprised, he takes a step back and frowns.

“Don’t be too shocked. I can smell it on you. I thought it was from your hunts but this makes more sense,” the fey replies lightly. “So? I’ve already said I don’t mean to harm them. Will you tell me the story or not?”

He studies Molly’s face for any sign of trouble but finds himself lingering on ruby eyes, now bright and attentive. “...she is called Nott the Brave...”

\--

When they part again with Molly promising to look into the matter further, he suddenly finds himself back in the alleyway alone. Caleb instinctively knows that no time has passed and if he goes back into Jester’s shop, she will think him more of a mad man than she already does.

It’s not like a new party will spring up within the next minute. Besides, he left a deposit behind, he reassures himself. She’ll get it done.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he makes his way down the street back towards his house.

Just one more dance.

One more party and then he’ll have answers for Nott. And then his life will return to as it was. It’ll return to a time when the most pressing matter was finding something suitable for Frumpkin’s finicky palate.

On his way back, he passes by the Cobalt Soul and sees Beauregard standing by a window with her hands at her hips and cursing to herself. “Who the _fuck_ drank all the cream? Which asshole would go and do that? They know it’s meant for—” Her words die off as she sees him. Something akin to relief flickers in her eyes. “Hey, Caleb, what are you doing here? More books?”

Caleb shakes his head. “Nein, I was just walking by and saw you. Did something happen?”

“Yeah, some...stupid cat drank the cream I set out even though it wasn’t for them,” Beau complains.

He remembers the bowl on the window sill and Mollymauk’s mention of cream by the library. “That is awfully rude of them,” he says sympathetically.

“Right? Stupid motherfucker. By the way, the fuck happened to you? Did you get mugged on the way here?” the monk asks, nodding at him.

Looking down, he sees that his outfit is still partially in tatters and the little flower normally tucked away in his lapel is gone—probably fell away when Molly’s sword sliced through. “Not quite. A hunt.”

Beau shoots him a questioning stare as if trying to evaluate the weight behind his words. “Must’ve been a tough one, huh? Guess I’m glad you made it out in one piece.”

“Thank you. It was not…ideal,” he mutters. “I should go home and change before the storm hits.”

The monk arches a brow. “What storm?” Then she looks up to see the grey clouds that seem to have chased him from that strange endless field. Suddenly flustered, Beau straightens out her robes and mutters, “Ah, that storm. Shit, I should’ve worn my clean robes…did I leave my spare here…?”

Caleb frowns. “Beauregard? Are you alright?”

She turns to him as if abruptly reminded of his existence. “What? Oh, I’m fine. Hey, does my hair look okay?”

“What?”

Beau shakes her head and waves him off. “Never mind. Listen, I have to go, uh, check on something. Get home safe, okay? I’ll talk to you next time.”

Watching her run off, he glances back at the storm and massages his temples. “One issue at a time, Widogast. You can deal with this later.”

\--

Returning home, as expected, he’s immediately bombarded with questions from Nott, who yells and demands, “Names! Give me names! What happened to you—are you alright? _Who!_? Who did this!? Where are they!? I’ll kill them all dead!”

Caleb does his best to assuage her fears. “I’m fine, Nott. There was a situation with Mollymauk—”

“_Mollymauk_!?” she shrieks. “I thought—”

“It’s fine,” he quickly repeats. “We sorted it out. I am safe and he is going to help me get answers for you.” Seeing that she’s far from calming down, he decides to give her some space by excusing himself to make a quick report. In his tattered coat, he steps into the back room and activates the sending stone with an exhausted sigh.

Even with a lit candle, the room is mostly engulfed in darkness, free of windows to let in any natural light.

Outside the door, he can still hear the redcap fuming and listing off everything she wants to do to teach that ‘no good flower fey’ a lesson for hurting her boy.

Despite himself, he can’t help but smile.

Then the stone lights up.

_“Bren. **Report**.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladiolus = Strength of character/conviction
> 
> The alternative name for this chapter was begonia (be cautious/a fanciful nature)
> 
> For the deleted scene of the end of their conversation and Caleb going back to the mundane world, go [here](https://selfish-cat.tumblr.com/post/189326578899/viscaria-deleted-scene)


	7. Wolfsbane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a deleted scene from chapter 6 you can read [here](https://selfish-cat.tumblr.com/post/189326578899/viscaria-deleted-scene) if you missed it in the foot notes last time :)

Adjusting the cuffs on his new coat as the scenery passes him by, Caleb sits in the carriage, rocking back and forth with the vehicle. There’s an invitation in his pocket with a very convincing forged wax seal on the back. Jester had excitedly pressed into his hand when he returned and all but ushered him out of her shop to send him on his way even though the party was days away.

Outside, the moon is rising in the sky, promising to be full and bright on this clear, beautiful winter night. Instinctively, he reaches into a pocket and runs a finger over the adder stone and the chain it’s attached to.

One last party.

The reluctance he feels doesn’t surprise him, but it catches him off guard nonetheless. 

There’s a whinny and the carriage pulls to a stop in front of a large manor home—grand but still modest compared to Olivia Mardun’s estate. It’s quaint in all the ways that reminds him of the first party where he came across the fey known as Mollymauk Tealeaf.

One last dance.

Stepping out, Caleb adjusts his cravat and reaches down to his lapel only to find it bare. Shaking his head, he proceeds inside. He puts on his best air of noble boredom and passes the invitation onto a man who greets him at the door.

“Entering Mister…” The man hesitates for a moment before doing his best to pronounce whatever name Jester had written. From the sounds of it, this one must be missing a few vowels.

The attention is unwanted, but Caleb makes a show of rolling his eyes as if the situation was a common one. Walking inside the entrance hall, he finds people mingling amongst themselves already, hardly anyone deigning to spare him a glance. There’s the sound of music floating in from the ballroom and servants walking around with trays of beverages.

He debates plucking a glass of wine to keep himself occupied while he waits but decides against it. He wants to be as focused as possible tonight. Instead, he begins his usual scan of the area for vantage points when someone steps up next him and laughs quietly. “So busy at work already?”

Whirling around, he sees a woman—no, he sees Mollymauk. Much like their second meeting, the fey is donning an intricate gown with a tapered waist and embroidered patterns. His lips are painted and eyelids faintly coloured. It’s nothing but glamour, Caleb reminds himself as he catches a glimpse of distorted silhouettes of purple in the reflection of wine glasses in a passing servant’s hand.

Still, they aren’t here for the hunt tonight.

“I was actually looking for somewhere to wait for you. You are earlier than usual, Mister Mollymauk,” he replies. “No games tonight?”

Molly grins a wicked grin. “Oh? We can play, if that’s what you want, Mister Caleb.”

He shakes his head and huffs, a smile tugging at his own lips. “Nein, perhaps later. I…” He lowers his gaze and offers a hand. “Would you care for a dance?”

Blinking, Molly looks around at the other guests. “Here?”

Arching a brow, Caleb nods. “Ja, unless you would rather we go to the roof? Ah, you did say being in these kinds of places was distracting.”

The fey shakes his head and takes his hand with a reassuring squeeze. “That’s not it. I’d love to dance. We just don’t normally do _this_.”

Caleb clears his throat a little sheepishly. “I suppose not, but neither of us are here to hunt. And I know I am nothing to look at, but you are dressed for the party so I thought…”

“None of that now. You are full of surprises tonight, Caleb, and plenty handsome. We can go up to the roof later—” Molly raises his free hand and draws something in the air. “There, so we won’t be interrupted. Let’s dance and I can point out all the cursed jewellery to you,” he laughs, leading him to the ballroom.

Smiling helplessly, Caleb follows.

They face each other amidst the other dancers and Molly, practically gliding despite his gown, immediately gestures to a pair of earrings on the woman to the left. Caleb nods but his eyes don’t drift away. “You are being especially attentive tonight,” the fey teases, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

Because this is the last party, Caleb doesn’t answer.

But Molly seems to hear it anyway. “Is it my disguise? Do I not look human enough?” he tries, though they both know better.

He shakes his head. “Nein, you look beautiful, Mollymauk.”

The compliment seems to catch the fey off guard and he breaks into a brilliant smile that has Caleb inhaling sharply. “And you are still being too morose. Let’s play a game after all.”

Snapping out of his melancholy, he asks, “A game?”

“Yes, it’s a simple one. We take turns asking each other questions. You can answer or you can pass, but if you pass, you have to tell me a secret instead,” Molly explains as they twirl around. “We can start with something easy. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever hunted?”

Sufficiently distracted, Caleb scoffs. “Besides you, you mean?”

“Flattering but you never hunted me,” Molly returns with a laugh. “I believe it was the other way around, little hunter.”

Nodding, he concedes, “That is fair, I guess. The worst thing I have ever hunted...have you ever faced an annis?”

Molly makes a face. A gratifying mixture of horror and disbelief. “You brought one down? On your own?”

“Nein, not alone. It was the last thing we hunted before ‘graduating’, so to speak,” Caleb replies. “We went in with five and came back with three and even that was a miracle. Two were torn apart and one,” he traces a line down the side of his face, “got away with a horrible cut down their face.”

“Is it normal to die in training here?” Molly asks with a frown.

He shrugs. “Not in most professions but hunting the fey is certainly more dangerous than most. I have not faced anything as dangerous since. What about you? Your worst hunt?”

“That’s your question then?” The fey hums in thought for a moment. “The worst hunt I can remember must be yeth hounds. A whole pack of them. It was an accident more than a hunt. I was actually supposed to find a hag.”

Caleb’s eyebrows raise with interest. He’s heard of these creatures but never seen one for himself. “How did you escape?”

Molly chuckles. “I managed to cut one down but then they did this thing with their voice that sent me running. I thought I was going to die but I managed to get into the sun and they just stopped. Didn’t give chase, didn’t attack. They just stood there at the tree line and...watched me. It was all very unsettling. I haven’t been back to those woods since.” Reaching up with one hand to play with his ponytail, the fey smiles. “My turn. Why do you hunt?”

He tilts his head and frowns. “This question again?”

“No, I mean how did you get started. _Why_ did you get started? It’s not exactly a common occupation for humans from my understanding,” Molly explains.

“Ah, well, I kind of fell into it. My parents were killed by fey. I was sixteen when I found my house burnt to the ground. I lost everything. Mutti and Vati. Even my cat. I didn’t know what to do but there was a fey hunter there. He took care of it,” he says quietly, recalling the smoke that filled his nose and the numbness that came with the shock. “After that, he took me in and put me through training with others who were like me. I was not a unique case by any means, but ever since that day, I have never thought to be anything else.”

The fey is silent and Caleb thinks to apologize for ruining the mood, wishing he’d just skipped the question instead, when Molly cups his face, expression open with sympathy. “That’s awful, Caleb.”

Without thinking, he reaches up and places his hand on top of the fey’s. “It was and I used to be so angry. I didn’t care what I hunted so long as it was fey. But I know better now. I am trying to change. I know that you are as varied as humans and even redcaps can be good.”

That brings a faint smile back to Molly’s lips. “I still have a bit of trouble believing that one myself.”

“My turn then?” He brings his hand down to Mollymauk’s collarbone, touching the skin lightly and drawing a shiver from the fey. His mind takes a moment, warring between the sight of unblemished sun-kissed skin and the knowledge of the countless scars scattered across lavender. “Your scars, how did you come by them?”

Molly glances down, his expression soft and contemplative. Caleb wonders if he’ll skip the question but his lips curl up. “I didn’t think you’d ask so directly. I don’t know.”

He blinks. “You don’t know?”

A shrug. “I don’t. I woke up with these. It must’ve been a hunt, but no one really seems to know what happened. No one alive anyway. Not the best answer, but I don’t know.”

“What was the last thing you remember then?” Caleb asks.

Shaking his head, the fey taps a finger on his lips. “I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”

Taking the hint, he nods and steers away from the topic the next round. As they dance, they continue talking, devolving into hunting stories and Molly’s description of the Feywild. They skip a few questions in favour of little secrets. He talks of a time when he accidentally threw his cat up a tree and blamed the wind, and Molly recounts some of the pranks he’s pulled off on his colleagues. They laugh and talk and ever aware of the passage of time, Caleb wishes there was a way to extend this night infinitely.

Eventually, it comes back to his turn and Caleb studies the fey who smiles back curiously. “What is it?”

“I cannot ask you to stay, can I?” he asks quietly.

Molly pauses. He lowers his gaze, smile turning shy as he answers, “No, but you can ask me to come back.”

Caleb’s eyes widen. Cupping the fey’s face, he blurts out, “Truly? I—Mollymauk, I would like very much to see you right now.”

Honey brown eyes stare back in shock before Molly bursts into laughter, cheeks dimpling in a way that makes his heart ache with tenderness. “We should take this to the roof then, Mister Caleb.”

Without waiting, he takes Molly’s hand and leads him to the stairwell in the back of the room, unlit and free of people. The guests make way for them to pass, none of them keen to venture out into the cold winter air that seems to seep in through the very walls.

Outside, the moon is bright and the air is biting but neither of them seem to mind as Molly pulls them to a nearby wall, shrouding them in shadows. Still smiling brightly, he leans in and like before and places lingering kisses over Caleb’s eyelids. 

When he opens his eyes again, the world is bright and dazzling once more. In front of him, Caleb sees a familiar sight of the fey dressed in his usual coat and boots and smiles a little breathlessly. “You would come back if I asked? Truly?”

“I’d certainly try. So are you asking?” the fey teases.

“I am. Mister Mollymauk, I am _imploring_ you to come back,” he says fervently.

Pressing their foreheads together, Molly hums happily. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

He glances up and meets expectant crimson eyes peering at him through thick lashes. Brain suddenly catching up, his heart skips a beat when he realizes how close they are. “Mollymauk…” 

Exhaling softly, he closes his eyes and leans in.

The sudden sound of the door to the roof opening has the two of them jumping apart. Immediately wary, they exchange glances and poke their heads out to see two figures emerging, one short and lithe, and the other tall and broad. Their pockets seem to shine and glimmer with magic that has Molly frowning. “Caleb, these people—”

Before he can finish his sentence, Caleb yanks him back behind the wall and hisses, unable to keep the urgency out of his voice, “Mollymauk, you need to _leave_! Now! Go back to the Feywild!”

Molly glances up at the sky and whatever he sees there has him shaking his head. “I can’t. Not yet.” Then looking down, he flips over Caleb’s lapel and asks with equal urgency, “Caleb, what happened to the charm I gave you?”

Brows furrowing, he glances down and frowns. “What? It fell off when we were fighting last time.” The fey lets out a curse and begins crafting a spell in his hands. Caleb glances back toward to where the approaching figures were and shakes his head. “There’s no time to worry about a flower now!”

The door to the roof closes and another set of footsteps join the pair.

Heart racing, he pulls the fey towards the ledge of the roof. “This isn’t good. You need to hide! Fly away! I know you have wings—you need to get out of here before they—”

As they step out into the open, Caleb’s words die on his lips as the moonlight reveals the wings on Mollymauk’s back. The shimmering silhouette gives way to brilliant wings of peacock green with gold and red eyes.

They’re large and magnificent and resplendent…

And broken.

The wings are bent in unnatural angles with bones jutting out and the feathers snapped and torn. Eyes wide, Molly wraps his arms around himself and steps back into the shadows where the appendages disappear once more. Head dipped low and shoulders hunched up, he shakes his head and whispers, “I can’t fly, Caleb.”

Caleb swallows hard, torn between comfort and urgency. “Mollymauk, I—”

“Well, it looks like you needed reinforcements after all,” a woman’s voice interrupts them. He turns around to see a short woman with cropped brown hair, peering at them through an adder stone.

“Astrid,” he mutters, stepping in front of the fey. 

“It even got your eyes,” the male joins in, lowering his own adder stone. Tall and well-built, he’d be handsome if not for the jagged scar running down his face.

“Eodwulf.” Hand going into his pocket, he wraps his fingers around the cold iron spike defensively as he pleads with them, “Please, wait! You two have to listen to me. He has done nothing—”

“_He_? This won’t do,” a third voice joins them, sending ice cold dread down his veins. An older man steps forward, his eyes cold and expression dispassionate.

He can feel himself shaking with fear. Dread pools in his stomach even as he forces himself to remain rooted to the spot, maintaining eye contact. “Sir, please, I can explain.”

The man narrows his eyes, barely registering him. “Explain your lies, you mean? I’m disappointed, but that will be fixed. _You_ will be fixed. Fixed and punished in due time. Lucky for us—for _you_, it hasn’t gotten away yet. It’s not too late to correct this grievous mistake. You should’ve known better. The fey have no right in this world.”

Caleb steps forward protectively with a snarl. “Nein, I won’t let you hurt him!”

There’s a burst of magic behind him as Molly reaches out for him. “Caleb, _no—”_

“_Bren_, stop _it_.”

The world suddenly goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wolfsbane = beware/a deadly foe is near
> 
> Hello I'm back and jet lagged and missing my circus kids what's up


	8. Marigold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, torture

He comes to the sound of wind buffeting the windows and muffled sniveling and crying. There’s a paw on his face and small clawed fingers wrapped around his hand, stroking it comfortingly. Groaning, Caleb opens his eyes and turns his head expecting to see the distressed redcap there.

Instead, he sees nothing but air. At first he thinks something’s gone wrong with his eyes and then he remembers that his friend hasn’t always been visible to the human eye. “Nott the Brave? Are you there?” he asks quietly.

“Caleb! You’re alive!” he hears, the fingers around his hand tighten. 

Glancing over, he sees Frumpkin watching him calmly, a paw still pressed against his cheek. Caleb furrows his brows and moves to sit up only to hiss in pain, clutching his arms to his chest.

Nott scrambles up onto the bed, hands clutching at his shirt now. “Caleb, you’re still hurt! You need to lie down! Oh, Caleb, they were so cruel to you! I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you but you couldn’t hear me and I was scared so I had to go invisible so they wouldn’t see me!”

Only half registering the words, he glances down to see deep cuts and welts running down his wrist, still glistening with blood and partially scabbed over. Frowning, he blindly reaches out and finds Nott’s shoulder. “What happened? How did I get injured? How did I get back? Nott, I need you to tell me everything that’s happened.”

He watches the fabric of his shirt lift and shift as Nott worries at it. “Caleb, you came back with these people and you did everything the man said. I heard him tell you to cut your arms and you _did!_ I couldn’t stop you! He kept calling you ‘Bren’ and hurting you and the other two didn’t care! Is that old man fey? He didn’t feel fey but you weren’t you.”

Caleb hesitates, thinking back to the rooftop when his eyes were still enchanted. “I don’t know. I believe he’s human but I cannot be so sure now. Nein, he did not glow…” Massaging his temples, he shakes his head. “This is not the time for that. We need to get you and Frumpkin somewhere safe first. Nott, you are alright? No one saw you?”

“Yes, I hid and they didn’t notice me and they didn’t care about Frumpkin because he’s a cat. But they lined your room with salt so we couldn’t get in until now—I’m sorry, Caleb, I didn’t mean to kill him but he was in the way and my cap was drying—”

“Who did you kill?” Caleb asks in alarm. Forcing himself up with success this time, he looks at the door to see a dead man with his foot jutting partially through the door, effectively breaking through a thick line of salt. “A guard?”

“I’m sorry, Caleb. I didn’t mean to shoot him in the neck,” Nott whispers again from his side.

“Nein, don’t be sorry. I will—” He takes a deep breath to still himself. It won’t do to panic now. “I will take care of this. As long as you’re alright. I’m sorry, Nott, I normally have a very good memory but I still don’t know what happened. I can’t remember. How long ago did I come back?” he asks, getting out of bed. His muscles ache as if he’d been put through strenuous exercise but short of the injuries running down his arms, nothing else is immediately obvious.

“Two nights ago. Those three have been here for a full day now but they had to go out so they left a guard. Caleb, who were they?” the redcap asks.

Caleb swallows hard and goes through the body on the ground, relieved to not recognize him. Finding nothing but an iron spike in the young man’s pocket, he shakes his head and pushes down the guilt. “This one is a hunter in training. I don’t know him.” He pockets the spike and pulls the body into the room out of immediate view, biting back a groan of pain as he strains his arms. “The others, they are hunters. Astrid and Eodwulf. We are...were friends—coworkers. We used to train together. And the man, Trent Ikithon, that’s who I report to. He is the one who trained us.”

Once done, he pats himself down, not surprised to find all his gear missing. Mentally going over a checklist of items normally found in his room, he motions for Nott and Frumpkin to leave the room as he goes around and grabs what tools haven’t been taken away. There’s nothing particularly helpful, but it’s comforting to feel a bit of weight in his pockets again. Satisfied with his findings, he spares a glance out his windows on his way out and frowns when he sees heavy, dark grey clouds smothering the morning skies.

They’ll have to leave before it starts raining to avoid tracks. He goes over to the bathroom and washes out his wounds with a muffled cry of pain. The cuts are deep and swollen with maltreatment and somehow the pain does nothing to jog his memory. “Do you know how long they will be out, Nott? Did they say?” he asks, his voice strained.

“No, they only mentioned they were going for materials. It sounded like they wanted to be back before the storm set in though,” the redcap’s voice comes from beside him.

“Materials for what?” He pulls out his stash of bandages and hastily wraps his arms until unseen hands take the ends from him and ties it off properly. “Thank you. We need to get you and Frumpkin out of here before they get back.”

There’s a pause.

“We can’t leave yet, Caleb. We have to help your flower fey,” Nott says, tying off the bandages on his other arm. “The materials are for him.”

Caleb freezes at this, nausea and dread washing through him. “Mollymauk? Nein, nein, _nein_, he should not be here. He _can’t_ be here! He should have gotten away! I was—I tried to get him to leave! Where is he? Is he alright?”

“They took him to the back room. With the salt. They made you go in there a few times too,” Nott tells him warily, her voice following as he marches down the hall. “He should be alive though. I heard them. They were still trying to get his name.”

“No, no, this is my fault. Gods, a _full day_? I should’ve hid him better, I should’ve—” Running a hand through his hair with a shaky breath, he turns back and asks, “Are there more people in the house?”

“Not right now. There may be more outside but I didn’t check. I was trying to get to you.”

Nodding, Caleb goes down the stairs and pauses again to listen. There’s no sound around the house save his own footsteps and light scampering behind him. Satisfied, he runs to the back room. Breaking the line of salt to the back room, he bursts in, bracing himself for the worst. 

Inside, there’s an iron cage in the middle of a chalk drawing enclosed in another line of salt. Despite being blind to things beyond his mundane vision, he has a pretty good idea what he walked into. Nott lets out a gasp which only makes his blood run colder. Lighting the candle stick on the desk next to the sending stone, Caleb frowns when the cage remains empty save a pile of salt. “_Scheiβe_. Mollymauk? Are you there? I cannot see you. They took away my stone.”

There’s a soft meow and Frumpkin suddenly leaps up onto his shoulder. He’s about to scold the cat when he feels a soft tugging sensation in the back of his mind. Blinking, he glances up at the familiar feeling, suddenly reminded of a childhood game of pretend he used to play with his old cat. 

He remembers running after bobbing lights in the fields and marveling at intricate shapes in the night sky. He remembers exploring the forest with his cat wrapped around his neck like a scarf and how the cat never ran off or scratched him even when they got caught in the rain or splashed their way up a creek. Then the fire happened and he never saw his cat again. 

Until nearly a year ago.

How surprised he was when a cat looking just like his old one came padding up to him, calm and with purpose. Frumpkin merely sat in front of his feet and meowed at him and followed him home as he left and that’s all it took. Caleb didn’t actually realize the cat he adopted was something more—never even thought to entertain the idea until Nott mentioned it to him.

“Frumpkin…?”

The fey cat meows again and the tugging sensation grows stronger still.

Surrendering to it as he remembers doing as a child, there’s a flash of light and his perspective seems to change. Higher up now and slightly to the left, he can see the side of his own head in his new periphery. It takes a moment to adjust, and then lowering his gaze, he hears himself let out a noise of distress.

Inside the cage just big enough for a dog, a bruised and battered Mollymauk is curled up, crimson eyes exhausted but focused as he quietly counts the pile of salt grain by grain. The sides of the cage have left burn marks on every inch of skin they came into contact with but whatever pain the fey may be feeling is lost in his counting.

Did he do this?

Did he have a hand in it?

More fearful now than ever before of the empty gaps in his memory, Caleb rushes forward and breaks the circle of salt. Although he failed to recognize it earlier with the cage obscuring most of the chalk circle, it’s easy now to see that it’s a ward against magic. Wasting no time, Caleb reaches down and brushes away the markings with his hand.

Almost instantly, Mollymauk exhales sharply and snaps his head up. Crimson eyes blink blearily as they study their surroundings, eventually landing on him. “...Caleb?” he rasps, reaching out only to hiss and recoil when he comes into contact with the bars of the cage. 

“Ja, it’s me. Did I—”

The question gets lodged in his throat.

“Let’s…let’s get you out. I’ll get you out,” he hears himself mutter instead. He carefully lowers himself to his knees and reaches for the lock on the cage. Fumbling with it uselessly, he quickly gives up and holds it up for Nott, who’s busy shifting her stare from Frumpkin to his body and then back to Molly. The sight of her unharmed and well calms him a little. “Nott, if you would not mind helping with this lock?” he asks. “Be careful not to burn yourself on it.”

She nods and scampers forward, tugging her cap further down. “Of course, Caleb! I’ve got this!” Pulling out a long metal lock pick from her belt, she works it into the keyhole as he holds the iron lock still for her. It takes a couple of tries, but the lock eventually springs open with a click after a little bit of readjusting.

Nott immediately steps back and hides behind him as Caleb swings the door open and helps the fey out of the cage. 

Molly collapses to the floor with a groan.

Kneeling down in front of him, Caleb can see burns on his hands and down the side of his face. The fey doesn’t look up, his entire form quivering as he tries to gather himself. Although invisible even to Frumpkin, Caleb shudders to think about how Molly’s wings were pressed up against the walls of the cage.

Hesitantly, he reaches out only to have Molly flinch back. Heart sinking, Caleb quickly retracts his hands and raises them in surrender. “Forgive me, Mollymauk. I won’t…I’m sorry. We don’t have much time and you need to get out of here. Please. Let me help?”

Exhaling shakily, Molly closes his eyes and nods.

Caleb wraps one of the fey’s arms around his neck and nearly loses his balance when Frumpkin gets up and moves to his other shoulder, suddenly shifting his perspective. Hoisting him up, he all but drags Molly out of the back room and down the hall, the normally vibrant creature now deathly silent save for his shallow breaths. 

This is all wrong.

He needs to fix this.

He needs to make sure this won’t happen again.

He needs to keep them all safe somehow—

They’re nearly to the front door when it suddenly flies open in time with a clap of thunder.

“_You!_”

Stumbling back a few steps, Caleb instinctively thinks to reach for his iron spike when he sees a familiar figure storming through the door, breaking the line of salt with a stomp. Taken aback, his attention slips and suddenly, he’s seeing through his own eyes again.

He blinks a few times and furrows his brows when the figure remains.

“…Beauregard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What better way to end/start the new year? Hope you're all having a good one! Thank you for all the lovely comments <333
> 
> Marigold = cruelty, pain, and grief


	9. Lavender

The skies rumble and lightning suddenly strikes the ground nearby with a sharp crackle. There’s electricity in the air and he can’t help but shiver as his eyes shift back over to Beauregard, who’s standing at the door with a deep scowl on her face. “What the fuck did you do, Caleb?”

Caleb shakes his head, at a loss. Feeling Frumpkin pulling gently on his senses, he closes his eyes and returns to the fey’s vision only to see another figure there, entering the house, somehow catching him even more off guard. “_Jester_?”

Although her skin has taken on a blue hue and there are horns curled tightly on her head and a tail swinging behind her, he’d recognize the bounce in her step anywhere. With the same bob and the same dress he’s seen time and time again, she looks at him with her best approximation of sternness as she steps forward. Then even that drops into genuine concern when she sees the other fey. “Oh no, Molly! Hang on, I’ll heal you!”

She dashes over, completely silent even when her feet hit the ground. Still agape, Caleb watches her approach, hands gently cupping Molly’s face. 

Suddenly, there’s a faint green glow at her fingertips and a shimmer of ruby and sapphire ripples behind her briefly. He catches this out of the corner of his eye, far more invested in watching the burns on Molly’s face and arms fade away. Caleb lets out a faint sigh at the sight, his brows and shoulders finally loosening along with the tightness in his chest.

“Jester,” Caleb says again, still not believing his eyes. Giving her a once over, he furrows his brows. “You are fey.” Turning to Beau, he asks, “And you are human? With the gift of sight?”

Beau shrugs vaguely and dismisses it with, “Something like that, I guess. For the moment anyway. We’re not here to talk about me though.”

Jester turns to him, rocking on her heels the same way she does in her glamoured form. There’s a frown on her face though her eyes shine with sympathy. “Caleb, what happened? I know you didn’t mean for all of this...did you? I mean, you probably didn’t, right?”

He shakes his head. “Nein, I was not expecting this. I was not expecting them to show up.” Pursing his lips, he glances down at Molly, who doesn’t stir, and farther down to Nott, who’s still hiding behind him. “It seems we have much to talk about—but not here. Somewhere safe.”

“I don’t know. It might be better for you to talk now while you still have the chance,” Beau mutters as another bolt of lightning comes down closer yet.

A silhouette appears at the doorway, filling the air with static. Caleb feels his hair stand on end and takes a step back protectively in front of Nott—this grip tightening around Molly’s form. As lightning lights up the sky outside, he catches sight of skeletal wings behind the figure and whispers, “You are Mollymauk’s partner. The storm fey.”

The larger fey doesn’t acknowledge his words, stepping forward, revealing mismatched eyes and an expression of rage and grief. Her hair is long, monochrome, and wild and thick with braids and dreads. Her arms are well toned and taut with tension, and the great sword in her arms doesn’t bode well for this encounter.

He’s looking to the other two for help when Nott suddenly scrambles forward with her crossbow drawn and teeth bared. “Don’t you dare come any closer to my boy or I’ll kill you!”

Caleb jerks back, shifting his weight to reach out to pull the redcap back. “Nott, nein, that’s dangerous!”

Next to him, he feels Molly stir, jolted awake by the sudden movement. Softly, he hears a groan and, “…Yasha?”

Everyone’s attention shifts and it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room as they wait for the storm fey to react. Her mismatched eyes are fixed on Molly still though the emotions behind them shift into something unreadable.

Molly reaches a hand out, and although Caleb can’t see the expression on his face, he can hear the weary smile in his voice. “Hey, none of that now. You’re the charm.”

Her glower breaks and she strides forward, sheathing her sword in favour of collecting the fey from Caleb. Despite her size and strength, she extracts her partner with utmost care and gentleness to avoid agitating his wounds. Cradling Molly delicately in her arms, Caleb watches her expression soften into worry and relief. “Only to you.”

Smile widening and a little more alert, Molly reaches up to pat her on the cheek. “Nonsense. To everyone here and more. I can’t tell a lie.”

Subtly, Caleb takes the opportunity to gently pull Nott back towards him and out of harm’s way.

Yasha dips her head and frowns. “He hurt you.”

Caleb freezes and snaps his gaze up.

Molly leans in and mutters something quietly before resting his head against her broad shoulder and closing his eyes again.

“I’m sure it wasn’t him, Yasha,” Jester chimes in. “Caleb’s really nice! He’s a little smelly and bloody sometimes when he goes shopping around town but he’s never been a bad person! Tell her, Caleb!”

He shakes his head and glances down at Nott again through Frumpkin’s eyes. “I cannot make that claim. I...I don’t know what I did.”

Beau steps forward with a scowl. “What do you mean you don’t know? I know for a fact that you have a perfect memory, Caleb. Don’t try to bullshit us!”

“It’s not bullshit and it’s not his fault!” Nott shouts at them, storming right up to Beau, her eyes defiant. “That man! Trent! He’s the one who did this! He made Caleb do things he didn’t want to! It wasn’t Caleb’s fault and if you keep yelling at him I’ll cut you up into little pieces!”

“Nott the Brave, please,” he hushes her, placating. “Thank you but this isn’t the time to be arguing with each other. We need to get somewhere safe before they return.” Glancing up, he asks, “Can you take Mollymauk back to the Feywild?”

Jester looks over to Molly, who’s sleeping soundly in Yasha’s arms, and shakes her head. “We can’t.”

Caleb frowns. “You can’t?”

“We can’t take Molly and we can’t get back either. The gate’s closed,” the fey explains. “You’re right, though. We definitely shouldn’t stay here.”

Calming down, Beau cocks her head and asks quietly, “We’re taking him with us then? Are you sure that’s a good idea, Jes?”

“Of course,” Jester insists with her hands on her hips. “If what his redcap friend said was true then Caleb’s in danger too! We can’t just leave them here! Besides, I think Molly must’ve known, right? Molly knows _everything_!”

“He knows everything except most things, you mean,” Beau mutters back. Turning to him, she gives him another appraising scan before letting out a sigh. “Molly didn’t know everything, but I guess he was pretty good reading people...and I’d feel bad if we left him here to fend for himself. Fine.”

The two look to him with a mixture of suspicion and sympathy while the storm fey merely walks away with Molly in her arms. Taking their cue, Beauregard and Jester follow suit.

When he doesn’t immediately follow, Beau turns her head and nods for him to move. “C’mon, you’re not gonna run, are you? We still need to talk.”

Nott clutches at his pants and looks up. He can see the hesitance and distrust in her eyes as she asks, “Are we going with them? If you don’t want to, we could probably run away and find somewhere safe to stay ourselves.”

Caleb shakes his head, glancing over at the retreating storm fey. He needs to know what’s going on and he needs to know that Molly will be alright. “We should follow them—at least for now. I do not think we would get very far on our own. Besides, the key to helping you is there with them.”

“You’re smart. I’m sure you could’ve found another way to help me,” the redcap grumbles. Pulling her cap farther down, she huffs and starts off after the fey. “I’ll kill them if they try anything funny.” 

“Nott, you are very brave but please stay close,” he calls after her. “I do not know if I can continue looking through Frumpkin’s eyes while walking and I will worry if I cannot see you.”

She glances back and quickly returns to take his hand. “I won’t leave you, Caleb. I wouldn’t do that,” she reassures him with a squeeze.

Returning to his own senses, he steps out of the house and quickly fixes the salt line to make his escape less immediately obvious. “I am surprised there were no guards outside.”

Beau scoffs and makes an offhanded gesture. “There were. They’re all in the bushes now.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” he mutters. Taking a better look at the hedges around the perimeter of the house, he thinks he can see a hand sticking out from a shrub and a shoe out of another. “Are they alive still?” he asks after a moment of hesitation.

“Yeah, we didn’t kill them or anything,” Beauregard reassures him. “They might find their pockets a little lighter though—and maybe bugs and twigs down the pants.”

Rubbing at the fresh bandages on his arms, Caleb nods. “That is good. They are probably only trainees still.”

“Oh, were you hurt too, Caleb?” comes Jester’s voice suddenly somewhere in front of him. “Do you want me to heal you? I’m like, the _best_ healer.”

He gives a start, blinking wide-eyed at the empty space. “Jester, there is no need to fret over me,” he says in her general direction. “We should focus on getting somewhere safe.”

The fey makes a disgruntled noise, the same one she normally makes when he turns down one of her wilder name suggestions. Ever since Beauregard introduced her to him, he had always thought of Jester as eccentric and mischievous, albeit in a well-meaning and charming way, but never considered the possibility of her being fey. Looking back now, he supposes the signs were obvious.

They veer off the road and into the brushes behind the treeline. Silently, they start their march towards town. Along the way, Beau suddenly raises her hand to stop him and ducks behind a tree. Quickly following suit, Caleb crouches behind a shrub and carefully peers out to the road only to see a carriage driving past them.

His heart threatens to stop when he catches a glimpse of familiar faces inside. “It’s them,” he whispers, breathless with panic. “They’re _back_. Scheiße, I thought we had more time! We have to—”

Clawed fingers tighten their grip around his hand, grounding him. “It’s okay, Caleb, they didn’t notice us. You’re safe. We’ll be long gone by the time they get back and realize we’re all gone,” comes Nott’s voice by his side. “I won’t let them hurt you again.”

He glances over to where Nott should be and squeezes her hand. With a grateful nod, he gets up and looks to Beauregard, who spares him a worried look. Less guarded, she mutters, “Shit, you really did get caught up in this like the rest of us, huh?”

Lowering his gaze, he makes a noncommittal noise and half shrugs. “It was not something I anticipated although maybe I should have.”

“It’s always hard to judge things accurately when you’re so close to it. And that guy seemed like the type who enjoys fucking with people. We’ll get this sorted, okay?” She gestures for him to follow, actually waiting for him this time. “C’mon, let’s pick up the pace since we’re going the long way around.”

They pick their way through the outskirts of town, circling around until they reach the other side where they come across a familiar house. Caleb furrows his brows and stares. “Caduceus’ house?”

Beau nods. “We’ll be safe here.”

As they move forward, the door opens and Caduceus steps out. Looking around, the man purses his lips and takes a deep breath. “Oh dear, there’s been some trouble, huh? I’ll make us some tea. Please, come in.” A smile. “_All of you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lavender = devotion and/or distrust


	10. Snowdrop

Back stiffening, Caleb leans closer to Beauregard when he notices Caduceus’ pupils tracking the others despite their invisibility. “Is he…?”

“No,” she replies. “Sort of? But different. You’ll understand. Probably. Or you’ll just learn to deal with it like I did.”

Still smiling, the tall man turns around. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”

They enter the house and follow him to the usual tea room where he serves up six cups of tea and a glass of milk. Realizing that he’s in a room surrounded by fey, trained instinct has him tensing at his unseen companions. “Beauregard, should I…?” he asks, gesturing to Frumpkin.

She shakes her head and fishes out a pair of goggles from a pouch tied to her belt. “Here, these will let you see them. I’ve still got Jester’s spell working for me.”

He examines the goggles, turning them around and studying their lens. Although rudimentary at best, he can see the outline of adder stones worn down into thin circles to fit the goggle caps. “Did you make these?”

Beau glances over at him and shrugs. “Maybe. What’s it to you? It’s not like it was a big deal or anything. I was just bored and had time on my hands.”

“These are very interesting—very practical,” Caleb murmurs. They don’t look particularly good, but the idea behind it is still an impressive one. “It did not occur to me that you could make devices like this.”

Pulling them on, they squeeze uncomfortably around his eyes and he suspects that if worn too long, they’ll give him an incredible headache. Still, he looks around and he can see Nott again to his great relief. She smiles at him and he nods back and turns his head to see Jester and Yasha crouching over Molly’s prone form.

Heart stopping, he watches magic pour from Jester’s hands. Unlike the distinct green glow it took on through Frumpkin’s eyes, he merely sees a shimmer—much like her wings. “Will he be alright?”

Jester nods. “Don’t worry, Molly’s strong. He’s going to be alright. I took care of the worst of it and Caduceus can help with the rest, right?”

Her words fill him with comfort, but he turns to the taller man regardless.

“I’ll certainly try. The tea will help but I don’t think he’ll be able to drink it until he’s up again. I’ll go see what I have in the garden,” Caduceus replies, his voice still the same deep rumble Caleb’s come to know.

Through the goggles, the tall man doesn’t look any different. There isn’t a sudden change in appearance or any shimmer or glow that would indicate magic of any sort. Caving, he asks, “Caduceus, you are human?”

Caduceus nods but then tilts his head to the side in thought as if reconsidering his answer. “I like to think so, yes. Maybe a bit more or a bit less depending on how you look at it. I was brought up to take notice of certain things most people go through life ignoring is all.”

“Like the fey.”

A serene smile. “Yes, like the fey.”

Caleb frowns when no further explanations come. “And you know magic? How? You don’t seem any different through these.”

“Ah, well,” the man murmurs, pouring himself another cup of tea. “I can only do a little and what I _can_ do isn’t drawn from the Feywild. It’s from the Wild Mother and everything around us.”

“Nature, then,” he says. There’s already a headache building deep in his temples from the pressure of the goggles and despite his keen mind, he’s having trouble keeping up with this whirlwind of events. Massaging his temples, he admits, “I am not certain I understand.”

Chuckling, Caduceus shrugs. “I’m not sure I understand it myself but it works well enough so hopefully _I’m _enough.”

Jester moved to stand in front of him with a wave. “Cay-leb, I can make myself visible so you don’t have to wear those anymore. Beau always complains about how uncomfortable they are.”

His gaze drifts over to Mollymauk. “But…”

“Don’t worry. Yasha’s going to take him somewhere comfier to rest so we can talk. She’ll be there with him and she’ll keep him safe,” the sapphire fey tells him earnestly. “Besides, I’ll know if he wakes up too! I’m super awesome and powerful that way, you know?”

Pursing his lips, he watches the storm fey scoop up Mollymauk and disappear into the next room with Caduceus following closely after. It’s only after Molly is out of sight that he pulls off the goggles only to find Jester standing there in the human form he’s come to know her. He gives a mild jump and takes a step back. “Nott the Brave, are you there?”

“I’m right here, Caleb,” she replies with a tug on his pant leg. “Is it okay if I show myself?”

Jester smiles and makes a flailing, welcoming gesture. “It’s definitely okay. I mean, I can see you now anyway so really, the only person you’re hiding from is Caleb. Unless you don’t _want_ him to see you?”

“No! No, it’s fine! Caleb’s fine! I just,” her form suddenly appears next to him, to his great relief, “you don’t care that I’m _this_?”

Beau crosses her arms and takes a seat. “It’s a little too late for that now. Look, we’re not in a place to be picky with who we work with right now. You don’t start trouble with us and we don’t really care what you are.”

The redcap’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “If you say so. But if _you_ start trouble, I’ll shoot you dead!”

Unperturbed, Beauregard merely grins and holds out a hand. “Deal.”

To his surprise, they shake on it. Nott watches her reaction closely as she closes her gnarled claws around the woman’s very human hands but Beau hardly reacts to the touch.

Jester hops over to them and crouches down. He hadn’t noticed before amidst their rush to leave the house, but where Molly smells like flowers and spices, Jester smells like cinnamon and sugary pastries. “I like your crossbow,” she says. “Did you make it yourself? I thought redcaps normally used axes and knives and stuff.”

Nott takes a step back closer to him. “I made it. I don’t like to get blood on me in case it makes the itch worse.”

“That sucks, man,” Beau mutters. “It’s a good idea though. Blood spatter is a bitch to clean off.”

While he’s relieved to see his friend treated so normally, Caleb can only wonder how long this ceasefire will last. He wants this over with. He wants to shelter somewhere safe and wait out this storm. He wants to go back to a home no longer his. He wants to see Mollymauk. He wants a thousand things but nothing will move forward until he gets past _this_. 

Rubbing his arms restlessly, he says, “This is nice but let’s not put this off any longer. There are too many things for us to be concerned about to be chatting so idly. You have questions, ja? I will do my best to answer them.”

Back to business, Beauregard crosses her arms and nods. “Well, this is a two-way exchange so how about tit for tat? You answer one. We answer one.”

“Are we trusting each other or should I do my truth magic?” Jester asks, waggling her fingers theatrically. Then she smiles kindly at him. “Caleb, you always end up telling me about your parties when I ask so I think you’ll tell us the truth.”

Caleb smiles weakly back at her. “I will certainly do my best.”

She nods and claps her hands together. “Okay! We’ll start easy! First question! How surprised were you when you realized I was fey?”

His mind blanks for a moment, all of his excuses and explanations flying out the door. He blinks a few times and stutters out a reply, “_Was_? Very? Although upon retrospect, less. Was that really your question, Jester?”

The fey nods and gently takes his hand. He doesn’t know when he started picking at the bandages again. “Yep! That’s my first question and you answered honestly so I think I won’t need to cast a spell on you. I don’t want you scared of us, Caleb,” she tells him ruefully. “We’re friends and these are bad times so we should be helping each other out.”

Shoulders sagging and releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Caleb can feel the knot of tension slowly loosening. Jester’s always had this effect on him, and it seems to hold true in spite of everything. “Even though I am a hunter?”

At this, Jester gives a more decisive nod. “That’s just your job. Molly and Yasha are hunters too. I don’t think that makes them bad people. Besides, you passed Molly’s test!”

“Okay, warm up’s over. It’s my turn,” Beau says, stepping forward. “Who were those people in your house and what do they want?”

“They are my colleagues and supervisor from the capital,” he explains. “I was not expecting them, which seems to be an intentional choice on their part. I do not know what they want though I think I may have some theories. My turn. Beauregard, how are you connected to the fey?”

Rubbing the back of her neck, Beauregard shrugs. “I spent some time in the Feywild as a kid. My dad did a stupid thing. It’s a long story and not important to this. All you need to know is that I know all about the fey and these guys are like family to me.”

Caleb nods and turns back to Jester who barely takes a second to consider her next question. “Who are your friends here?”

“Ah, ja,” he mumbles hastily, “apologies. You have not been introduced. This is Nott the Brave and Frumpkin. Nott, Frumpkin, this is Jester and Beauregard.”

Nott narrows her eyes at the women before muttering, “Caleb, I still don’t like this. How do we know they’re not just going to kill us? Maybe not Frumpkin, he’s just a cat, but their type generally don’t like my type. Or yours, even.”

Beau cracks her knuckles. “Hey, I thought we had an agreement!”

“But you can _lie_!” Nott shoots back, baring her teeth.

Jester quickly placates her and crouches down again. “We wouldn’t do that! Are you going to shoot me for being fey?”

“Not yet. You are adorable,” the redcap admits, “but I don’t know you.”

“Well, I think you’re plenty cute and I don’t want to hurt you either,” Jester says. “_I_ can’t lie. So can you believe me for now?”

He placed a hand on Nott’s head and does his best to calm her. “I know you worry, Nott the Brave, but as Jester said, we are...friends. I think we are safe here. For the time being, at least.”

Nott huffs and winds her way back behind him, watching from behind his legs. “Fine, but I’m keeping an eye on them. You’re very smart, Caleb, but they’re fey and we don’t know everything that’s going on yet.”

Caleb nods and turns back to the two. Beauregard has her arms crossed while Jester has a rueful smile on her lips. The atmosphere’s grown tense again. Clearing his throat, he says, “My turn then. What is your role in this situation? Were you sent to monitor me?”

“Nothing so elaborate,” Beau replies. “I was already working here when you came along. I noticed what you were doing, not that you really kept it a secret, and decided to keep tabs on you.”

“I came to visit Beau and thought it was fun so I stayed,” Jester chirps.

Clearly used to the interjections, Beauregard continues, “Right, and then Jester came and decided to stay. Anyway, the court caught wind of you and your hunting and decided to check out the situation.”

He frowns. “So they sent Mollymauk.”

Rolling her eyes, Beau scoffs and glances at the doorway. “They sure did. I haven’t decided whether that was the best or worst thing they could’ve done.”

“And you are the one that vouched for me,” Caleb guesses.

Jester raises a hand and hops on the spot excitedly. “I did too! And so did Caduceus!”

Blinking, he turns to her and dips his head. “Danke, Jester. If you don’t mind my asking,” Beauregard waves for him to continue, “you mentioned earlier that the gate to the Feywild was closed. Can either of you reopen it?”

The two shake their heads. “After Molly was taken, the court sealed the gates to keep everyone else safe,” Jester explains. “We stayed behind to rescue him.”

“How is it a rescue if none of you can return?” Caleb asks in disblief. 

Beau holds up a hand and stops him. Making an obvious show of looking around the room warily, she says, “Later.” 

Caleb freezes and gives a stilted nod. “Ah, ja, that’s a good idea.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, okay?” the woman clarifies after a moment of thought.

He shakes his head. “Nein, Beauregard, you really shouldn’t.”

Their questions end there and the pair go to check up on Mollymauk. As much as he wants to follow, the guilt and the fear stop him. Instead, he takes a seat with Frumpkin in his arms and waits in silence.

The anxiety gnaws at him. 

The longer they remain, the higher the risk of discovery. And while he may have gotten lucky and escaped this time, Trent is the one who taught him most of the tricks up his sleeve. Without help, he would’ve never stood a chance.

If anything, he’s the one putting everyone at risk by being here.

Nott reaches over and pats him on the knee. “It’s not your fault, Caleb.”

He sighs and looks over. “But it is, isn’t it? I am the one that caused all of this. Mollymauk’s capture, the gates closing, everyone being stuck here.” Pursing his lips, he shakes his head ruefully. “I couldn’t even help you like I promised.”

“You had no way to stop it. That was a bad man and he made you do bad things you would never do on your own. You may have done it, but the fault isn’t yours,” she insists. “And you’ve helped me _so much_, Caleb! Don’t you ever think otherwise or I’ll have to shoot you or something!”

Wrapping an arm around her, he pulls the redcap in for a hug and doesn’t reply.

Claws digging into his clothes and pricking his skin, Nott tells him, “I’ll say it as many times as I need until you believe me.”

“Perhaps one day, then,” he sighs. “Danke, Nott.”

They end up staying the night at Caduceus’, each taking a turn to stay on watch by the entrance. With limited rooms available, he and Nott offer to sleep in the living room together. 

Sleep doesn’t find him easily before or after his watch, but eventually, the exhaustion wears him out and he wakes to find sunlight streaming in from the windows wet with dew.

Pulling away from Nott, careful not to wake her, he gets up and slips into one of the guest rooms. In the bed there, although the blankets are raised around an ill-defined shape, all he sees is emptiness. Cursing himself for not bringing the goggles with him, he’s about to walk back out when he hears, “Caleb.”

Heart skipping a beat and his spirit soaring at the voice, he whirls back around to the empty bed. “Mollymauk—”

“You need to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snowdrop = Hope, consolation/sympathy
> 
> Hope you're all doing well in this time of terribleness!


End file.
